


Bad Things To Such Good People

by Mililap



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I finished watching the show, Post 2x08 folks!, and i just refuse to leave it where it is, because I have so many feelings and thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mililap/pseuds/Mililap
Summary: One had been stabbed and the other had been shot: they were finally on even grounds. How could they stop playing the cat and mouse game just now? They had to keep playing, they had to keep on going until one of them lost and declared the other the winner.With Villanelle hiding from her, Eve will be forced to find her opponent again, one question still making her head spin: Between the assassin and the agent, who was the cat and who was the mouse?





	1. Fuck Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle analyze their last encounter in the solitude of their minds.

She had done it.

She had shot her.

She had fucking shot her.

One bullet. Her midsection.

Her stomach.

Right where she had _stabbed her,_ before.

_You told me I couldn’t do it. I showed you I could._

The anger she felt upon remembering the other woman subsided when she recalled she had done the same exact thing, her furrowed brows softening in her expression as she remembered how she had told the assassin she _wouldn’t_ shoot her, as if she weren’t capable of such a thing, for it was not the way she’d do things.

_Foolish me, to underestimate her like she had underestimated me._

_What a dickhead._

And, indeed, what a dickhead Villanelle was.

What a Dickhead, with a capital D, Villanelle was, for getting her in such a mess.

What a dickhead Villanelle was, for mumbling the safeword and forcing her to abandon Hugo in the state he was because what else could she do? She had no choice there; how could she abandon _Villanelle,_ a skilled assassin, to the hands of _Aaron Peel,_ some freaky psycho with no apparent skill in the art of murder?

What a dickhead Villanelle was, for tricking her into watching her murder said freaky psycho in cold blood because what on Earth was she supposed to do? She really had no choice there either; it’s not like she could simply look away. She _had_ to see, _had_ to witness whatever Villanelle was up to in that fucked up head of hers.

What a dickhead Villanelle was, for leaving her alone only to go look for some stupid car to stupidly escape into the stupid sunset because she couldn’t even try to talk her out of it, leaving the scared woman with no choice but to go back on her own and confront an unexpected Carolyn, finally see her for who she was after avoiding it for so long.

What a dickhead Villanelle was, for making her _choose her,_ despite all the dickheadery she had displayed.

Because she didn’t have a choice in that choice she had made.

Carolyn had forced her.

No, _Villanelle_ had forced her.

Nevermind she had been offered an alternative; her hand had been forced, end of discussion.

So what a dickhead Villanelle was, for coming back for her and actually looking for her _inside_ the hotel, once the dark haired woman hadn’t come out on her own.

What a dickhead Villanelle was, for having a choice and choosing her—

What a dickhead Villanelle was, for letting Raymond choke her to near death, only for her to grab that axe and—

_The shoulder._

The shoulder, really?

_Yes. The shoulder. Fucking dickhead._

What a dickhead Villanelle was, for making her embed that axe on the brute’s shoulder.

What a dickhead Villanelle was, for not letting her think and _force her_ to kill that man.

_I was not ready._

She wasn’t, really.

She wasn’t ready to face the truth and look at it in the eye, recognize it and greet it into her fucked up life.

_A life fucked up by Villanelle._

She wasn’t ready to let go of that little thread of sanity she had been trying to hold on to.

She wasn’t ready to face the truth and yet she had to.

She wasn’t ready to kill and yet she did.

She wasn’t ready, and yet.

And yet.

_Dickhead._

Villanelle.

_Synonyms._

Just like _fucked up_ , and _fucking psycho,_ and _stab wound,_ and _shot wound,_ and—

_And annoyingly likeable._

_And charming._

She wasn’t ready and yet she did it.

Because she had no choice, except she did.

She could choose; herself, or Villanelle.

She could choose and she _chose._

And she will never admit she had a choice, but deep down inside, she _knows._

She _knows_ she could choose and she _knows_ she did.

And she feels bad for it, because she feels like she chose _wrong._

And of _course_ she had chosen wrong; how could she choose _Villanelle,_ of all people, over _herself?_

That’s not right. It doesn’t make sense, at least.

Because ever since meeting the assassin, the woman with the amazing hair had chosen herself over everyone else, time after time; Niko, Kenny, Elena, Jess, Hugo, Carolyn, Nadia, Konstantin, _whoever;_ time after time, she had chosen _herself_ over them.

Because a psychopath wouldn’t choose anyone over themselves.

Yet a psychopath had chosen another psychopath and that’s not a very psychopathic thing to do.

It didn’t make sense, it was all very—

_Fucked up._

A synonym of both.

A synonym of Villanelle, formerly Oksana Astankova.

A synonym of Eve Polastri.

So fuck her, fuck that dickhead, for fucking up her perfectly normal, perfectly boring life.

Fuck her for making her feel so alive, so very wide awake.

Fuck her for destroying everything she had anchoring her.

Fuck her for making her choose and fuck her for choosing, too.

Fuck her for offering dreams of homemade meals and a cabin in the middle of nowhere somewhere in Alaska and promises of movies and a false _normality_ and sex, probably lots of sex—

Fuck her for being honest.

Fuck her for shooting her.

Worst of all, fuck her for not aiming to kill.

Fuck Villanelle for failing her original mission and not killing Eve Polastri.

Fuck her, for changing everything.

Fuck her, for making her _miss her._

_Fuck her._

* * *

 

She had done it.

She had shot her.

She had fucking shot her.

One bullet.

Only one, wasted on someone so not-special.

Wasted on someone so regular, so just like everyone else in that world everyone seemed to live in, including ordinary woman Eve Polastri.

A world which was not hers to step on, for she had taken those hands she had been given and built one that was worth living in.

A world worth the try, because it wasn’t boring.

It wasn’t dull.

It was fun.

It was _exciting._

_It was Eve—_

Her world had started before her and it could go on without her.

Eve had made up her mind and stated her decision.

She chose the world everyone else lived in over the world Villanelle was so eager to share with her.

_So be it._

She chose normality, a bad normality, over _her_ normality, a good normality.

_So be it._

She chose Eve Polastri, the MI6 agent, over Eve Polastri, Villanelle’s fantasy of excitement and adrenaline.

_So be it._

She chose to leave Villanelle behind and ignore the truth the assassin had revealed in front of her eyes.

_Fuck her._

Fuck her for choosing wrong.

Fuck her for choosing herself, instead of choosing _her._

Fuck her for being stupid enough to think she had manipulated her, when all that Villanelle had done was offer her a safe space to grow and experiment, explore the darker side of the spectrum.

Fuck her for making her realize Aaron Peel was far more psychopathic than her, for she actually _did_ crave human contact.

She _did_ crave Eve Polastri.

_I loved you, I really did._

But she didn’t anymore, because it was _that_ easy for her. One click, one flick of a switch, and Eve Polastri was dead to her.

Like Anna.

_Fuck her too._

Eve Polastri was just another Anna.

_Fuck them._

Nevermind that Eve was her equal.

Nevermind that Eve was a synonym to Villanelle.

Nevermind, nevermind, nevermind.

_Nevermind._

_Don’t think._

Because thinking is bad, because thinking makes us spiral into our own selves.

Thinking, for Villanelle, used to mean boredom.

It used to mean the rationalization of her procedures and the world she lived in and how it was trapped inside everyone else’s world. It meant realizing she was trapped in a boring life, dull and lacking of any color, a simple scale of different shades of grey.

Thinking didn’t mean realizing how miserably fucked up she was, anymore. At least, not in that sense.

Thinking was _worse,_ now.

Thinking meant going back to Eve, to that gunshot, to her _very real_ promises to the black haired woman, to her pride and excitement and _God_ how _good_ Eve had looked when she was _swinging that axe—_

_Irrelevant, now._

_She’s boring._

_She’s dead._

And thinking such thought brought a lump to her throat.

What did a lump in her throat mean?

She’d rather not think about it.

_Eve can die._

But she hoped she didn’t, even if she didn’t admit it.

Even if she didn’t think of it.

_Eve can die._

Because she could go to Hell for leading her on like that, but hopefully the agent would end up in Heaven, so they wouldn’t cross paths once Villanelle herself said her last words and exhaled her last breath.

_I hope I never see you again._

But really, did she?

She’d rather not think about it. Not thinking is good.

It’s good, because it helps her forget about Eve and all she meant.

It’s good, because it helps her ignore how she had rebuilt her world around the woman, just how she had witnessed Polastri do with her.

It’s good, because it helps her not realize she regrets her actions and wishes to go back and save her lover.

Because she loves her, she really does.

Because it’s not as simple as flicking a switch anymore and she _knows_ that, but she’d rather not think about it, because it meant looking at the truth in the eye and Villanelle wasn’t ready to do that, nevermind forcing Eve to do it herself; nobody could force _her._

_Nevermind. She can die._

But, trully, she hoped she didn’t.

Fuck her, for turning her world upside down.

Fuck her and her stupidly beautiful hair.

Fuck her and the way she made her heart race, heat invade her and go straight to her groin—

Fuck her and the way she was _exciting_ without even trying.

Fuck her and her impossibly close yet impossibly distant availability.

Fuck her and everything she represented.

Fuck homemade meals and cabins in the middle of nowhere somewhere in Alaska and also fuck watching movies and the _oh-so-promisingly-delicious sex—_

_Fuck her._


	2. Wrong Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve comes across a wiser version of Villanelle inside her head. Somewhere else, Villanelle can only think of a click, a bang and a thud.

She was kind of tired of the feeling, the sensations it brought with it.

Alive but not, juxtaposed to being very much alive.

Awake but not, juxtaposed to being _wide awake._

She would have snorted at the thought, if she was certain she could do it.

Truth be told, Eve wasn’t entirely sure she was awake: she could _think_ somewhat and somehow, _that much_ was true, but she wasn’t aware of any kind of surroundings. She couldn’t feel her own body, couldn’t perceive anything with any of her senses, couldn’t do _anything_ but think, as if it was all a lucid dream.

In her quiet darkness, the void of her solitude, Eve, who could do nothing but think, thought a lot.

She thought and thought and thought about several different things, many but not all of them being Carolyn and her manipulative ways, Niko and how he must be heartbroken —or happy with Gemma, now, who could know —, Kenny and how he _had tried_ , if she could recall correctly, to warn her about his mother’s plans, Konstantin and how he had tried to play her once, Hugo and how she hoped he was alive because he certainly didn’t deserve such a sad death…

...Then on another compartment of her psique she had the whole Villanelle thread of thoughts, which included but were not reduced to how the girl had purposefully killed twice in front of her, how she had taken away every little bit of her sanity, her normality, her _life,_ burning it down to the ground, how she had sounded and smiled while talking about a shared future, how it all burned along with her once she had drawn the line on the sand.

How she had said they were the same and thus how Eve proved they weren’t by denying her the pleasure of following, of tagging along.

How she had forced her to kill Raymond.

That was something that she believed wouldn’t let her sleep at night, if she could ever do something like sleep again.

It kept repeating itself in her mind, for whatever she thought about hard enough became an imagined scenario and, in her lucid dreaming of sorts, at some point in time, if such a thing still existed for her and still moved forwards, said imagined scenarios started to materialize in front of her, the vast nothingness that surrounded her finally subsiding for a while as she was transported into her mind’s version of the events she kept trying to recall.

Every time it was slightly different, as if she were watching exactly the same scene every time, but the camera placement was off by an inch, the difference being imperceptible for anyone but her.

Villanelle was _dead_ with her hands around Raymond: her eyes didn’t see, her voice didn’t speak, her ears didn’t listen, while her former handler smiled viciously at her, pressing harder and harder.

 _That’s_ when she enters the scene and, quietly, picks up the axe.

Her mind’s eye, her camera placement inside that horrific movie of hers, was somewhere in the room but not where memory Eve was: it was like an out of body experience, something along the lines of a very strong dissociation, or even something as ridiculous as astral projection. She could _see herself_ from the outside and, somehow, recognize that the Eve from the movie was most definitely _not_ her, as if her face were slightly different, her hair a bit lighter, her height a bit taller, her hands a bit stronger.

Camera placed just an inch to the left.

It felt _exactly_ like that.

As soon as she’s in the room, Villanelle is once more alive, her eyes seeing her, her voice telling her to _Do it,_ her ears keenly listening to her silent footsteps and the way her breathing became erratic, just like her heartbeat.

She guessed that _movie Villanelle’s_ _death_ of sorts is due to her _not_ having any kind of memory of Raymond and Villanelle’s fight before she entered the room, for she had not witnessed it, her _resurrection_ being product of her mind finally being able to fill in the blanks with her own memories.

She didn’t think much about that irrelevant aspect of things.

She never had enough time to contemplate it, anyway.

And in this case, time _did_ exist for her, because she always ran out of it.

She ran out of it, because whenever she was about to analyze how her own mind was creating that scenario, memory Eve was suddenly bringing her axe down on Raymond’s body.

And it was _right then_ that something was not right.

It was _right in that moment_ when her axe connects with his shoulder—

_Really Eve? The shoulder?—_

It’s right in that same moment that her whole scenario shifts into something she logically _knows_ couldn’t have happened because suddenly, memory Eve is smiling maniacally as she disembeds the axe from his body and starts chopping him off, bit by bit, hitting him again, and again, and again, and again as his blood pools up on the ground and showers both Villanelle and her—

And Villanelle looks _exactly the same_ as she remembers her.

Memory Eve is fucked up, insane with bloodlust and killing him to satiate her unnatural needs, looking more and more like a _monster,_ something that happened _every time_ she recalled the incident.

She knows that’s not how it looked like, she knows she was _scared,_ and _sad,_ her whole body shaking as her throat closed up with the _guilt_ she felt and the only reason why she was able to keep moving forwards and follow Villanelle was the excessive _energy_ and _adrenaline—_

_But this is how it felt._

_How it_ feels.

She watched as the scene lasted more than the actual event, as she dismembered him while Villanelle watched in ecstasy, something entirely sexual taking over her body, too, as she witnessed memory Eve become what she wanted her to be.

_A mirror._

Her.

_An equal._

She hated the scene in front of her.

_I don’t want to see this anymore._

So she didn’t, as the memory vanished into nothingness again and she was alone in her darkness.

But she was never really alone.

Her memories haunted her.

“ _What do you want for dinner?”_

It startled her, in a way. That voice, so distant in the void and so close at the same time, distorted and echoey as it bounced around in her mind, her skull.

That question and all it implied.

_Dinner?_

It was a knee-jerk response, an instant reaction.

She saw a shadow approach _her,_ not some memory Eve. _Her,_ and heard that voice she loved and hated again, “ _Tonight I could make dinner,”_

_Uncanny._

And it sounded closer than before.

She tried to blank her mind but it didn’t happen.

All that came to mind was—

_Spaghetti?_

She heard her laugh, _“Good idea,”_

Seeing that shadow approach her, slowly reshaping itself and taking form, she turned around and gave it her back, not wondering how such a thing was suddenly possible, when she had been able to move everything that was around her but not her own self ever since being in her lucid dreaming state.

“I was thinking we should go to Alaska.”

The voice was not distorted and echoey anymore.

Pleasantly loud and clear as summer skies.

And right on her ear.

_I thought I didn’t really have ears anymore._

_Uncanny._

“Have you seen pictures?”

She _gulped,_ realizing right there and then that she did, in fact, have a throat.

“It’s so amazing,” She felt someone — _Her, Villanelle —_ breathe into her ear, “We could get a cabin.”

It was not right.

Villanelle was not as assertive when it happened.

_Maybe this is the version of Villanelle that’s trapped inside my head. Less nuts._

_Just as annoyingly likeable._

The memory was fucked up, just like Raymond’s murder, because Villanelle had never gotten so close to her, talking to her from behind her, her voice right on her ear, her hot breath washing over her exposed neck—

“Nobody would bother us there.”

—Yet it was happening this time.

Wasn’t she wearing a turtleneck? Why could she feel Villanelle’s breath all over her?

“We’d be normal—”

 _We could_ never _be normal._

“And I have money so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Okay.”

She was startled at the sound of her own voice, for suddenly she had one.

Villanelle was quiet for a moment—

“You’ll feel better soon.”

And Eve felt like she couldn’t breathe—

“I’ll look after you.”

And she didn’t know whether it was the statement or the hands she felt, snaking their way around her waist.

She opened her eyes suddenly, the scenario that had been building around her finally revealed.

It was not Rome.

It was Paris.

They were on some bridge, she didn’t know the names, but she could see the Eiffel Tower from wherever they were—

She felt Villanelle’s _mouth_ resting on her neck and Eve could do nothing but take in a deep, shuddery breath as she _felt_ more than heard her mumble, “It’s going to be amazing.”

“No.”

And those hands on her waist stiffened.

_Unexpected._

She had not expected herself to be able to say anything other than what had been said.

She definitely had not expected herself to be able to say _No._

_Not now, not then._

“What?”

Eve closed her eyes for a second, trying to understand this illusion of hers. “No.”

Villanelle’s lips were on her ear, “Eve,” She breathed out, smiling after, “Wrong answer.”

“ _You_ ’re the wrong answer.”

And all Villanelle did was chuckle.

All Villanelle did was chuckle.

_That’s not right._

Eve turned around.

She regretted it immediately, upon realizing just how close the Russian was to her.

Her eyes roamed the blonde as she realized she was not wearing the red attire she had been wearing in Rome, though she did recognize the outfit.

A red, blue and black patterned suit—

_Berlin._

This was _Berlin-style_ Villanelle _._

And she was _smiling._

She couldn’t be more than an inch or two away.

“ _I’m_ the wrong answer?” She asked her, still smiling, watching as Eve nodded her head. “Okay, I’m the wrong answer,” And the blonde rose her eyebrows and added, “But to which question?”

It caught her by surprise. “What?”

Villanelle laughed again, the sound uncannily gentle and addictive, “See, Eve?” She asked her, bringing her closer, her body starting to press up against the smaller woman’s, “You don’t even know what the question you’re so desperate to answer is.” She shook her head a bit as she started swaying them to the rhythm of some slow music only the assassin could hear, “Let’s drop the pretenses. Let’s stop chasing the lies that we both stopped believing a long time ago.”

“Which lies?”

She shrugged, “That you hate me and I hate you, that you don’t like me and I don’t like you, that you don’t crave me like you crave air after being underwater for so long and I don’t need you like I need adrenaline on my veins, that you don’t want me like I want you.”

And then Villanelle’s smile was bigger as she pulled her closer and closer until they were sharing a breath and whispered, “That you don’t think about me every single second of your life.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You told me as much.”

“I lied.”

Villanelle raised a brow at her, before chuckling and shaking her head, “You’re not fooling anyone, Eve.”

“I—“

“You can’t hide from me.”

“You—“

“ _You_ can’t pretend you didn’t put that earpiece on and listen to me that night in Rome,” Villanelle let out in a low voice, “Listen to me touching myself the way I wanted to touch you, making you so wet with the sound that you _had_ to ride Hugo with your eyes closed and that earpiece still on, fucking him the way you wanted to fuck _me.”_

Eve’s breathing was far more erratic than before. “You couldn’t—“

“ _You couldn’t_ help it that night when Niko came back to you and fucked you hard and rough and messy and all you did was close your eyes and pretend it was _me,_ a little illusion that lasted only until he became _sloppy,_ because I’m many things but sloppy certainly isn’t one of them, though the lie was strong enough that you _almost_ moan out _Oksana.”_

She felt like she was going to pass out. “That’s not—“

“And you _can’t_ tell me you didn’t wonder about how I feel every time I kill someone when you _almost_ push that guy in front of the train.”

Eve felt her heart beating at an unnatural speed, “How do you even know about that?”

Villanelle smiled, “Because I know _everything_ about you, because we are the _same.”_

“No,” Eve stated, shaking her head. “That’s not true. You don’t know that. We don’t know that.”

Villanelle let out a huff of a laugh, though the sound was smooth like velvet and subtle like her own footsteps. “You may be right,” She mumbled as her hand found Eve’s neck, bringing her impossibly close, her lips almost touching her own, “We don’t know that. You know what it means?”

“No,” Eve automatically replied, sounding as cool as Villanelle, despite her lack of calm.

She didn’t know why her vision was suddenly blurry, as if she had put on eyeglasses that did not belong to her, her eyesight slowly worsening with every tick of a distant clock.

And then she couldn’t see anything but the blonde assassin as she looked into her very soul and—

“It means you have to find me to find out.”

* * *

She woke up.

Finally alive, finally awake.

Not in between, anymore.

It felt like it all happened in blink of an eye: first, there was Villanelle and then, a hospital’s room.

Pristine white surrounding her, the sound of that ticking clock being far more evident than before.

To her right, Kenny, asleep on a chair, though his torso was resting on the edge of her bed.

Well, asleep, until she shifted a bit, which startled him and had him suddenly getting up as he chanted _I’m awake, I’m awake, I’m awake,_ shaking his head and widening his eyes as much as he could as his eyelids were still heavy with sleep.

She watched him as his gaze settled on her and focused, the boy going from sleepy to confused as he finally said “Eve,” As if saying her name helped him concentrate on her, “Eve,” He repeated, before saying, “You’re alive.” In a lame statement of the obvious, as if it was hard for him to assimilate it.

“And you look like shit.”

“I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in quite some time.”

_I’ve been out for quite some time, then._

Eve grunted and tried to get up—

“ _Eve—”_

The pain that suddenly expanded from her midsection to the rest of her body was enough of a warning _not_ to.

The blood that slowly started to appear on her white garments, the consequence of her misbehavior.

“ _Shit.”_

Kenny got up from his seat and quickly rushed to the door, “We need a nurse here!” He shouted at someone in the corridor, before coming back to Eve’s side, “Eve—”

“This hurts like a _bitch_.”

“And yet you try to move.”

“Well, yeah, how long have I been here anyway—”

“I’m sorry.”

His tone and the unexpected apology made her look at him with a confused frown, “What?”

He looked troubled, “I’m sorry for Rome, Eve, if I had told—”

“Oh but you did. Well, you tried, at least.”

He didn’t think she’d remember. “Eve—”

“Oh, Eve.”

That voice made her feel like shit.

Still, Eve turned her head to look at Carolyn on the door, entering the room with a nurse and a doctor behind her, “Glad to know you’re still on the side of the living.”

Eve stared at her until the nurse kicked them out of the room while the doctor inspected her wound, quickly fixing the stitching, cleaning it and letting the nurse put fresh garments on the dark haired woman, changing her serum too.

“Don’t move too much,” The doctor let out as a tranquil yet stern warning and, just as she arrived with her nurse, they both left, letting Eve’s _guests_ back in again.

Eve kept staring at Carolyn like she had grown a second head before finally letting out a laugh, “What the Hell is going on here?”

Carolyn’s expression barely changed, but Eve could now see it; the slightly more furrowed brows, the millimetrical movement of her head to a side.

She could see all of it now.

“Well, we’re in a hospital, visiting you.”

Eve closed her eyes for a second, tired of the older woman’s games. “You told me I was _on my own,_ Carolyn, and suddenly it appears that I’m not.”

“Oh, you _are,”_ Carolyn corrected for her. “You’ve been fired of MI6 the moment you declined my offer. Rescuing you from bleeding out in the middle of Villa Adriana was something I did entirely for Kenny since he begged for it, a wish which I gladly fulfilled and now you’re on your own, again. It’s not personal, Eve, so I hope you understand.”

“I understand,” She replied, “I understand that you’ve been using me all this time.”

“Oh, _come on,_ Eve,” Carolyn replied with that mocking smirk of hers on, “I only used you that one time. You see, Villanelle and you have a curious yet strong pattern of doing the exact opposite of whatever you two have been ordered to do.” She raised her brows a bit, “In a situation as critical as this one, what was I supposed to do but use that to do the greater good?” She looked at the time on the wall clock and suddenly turned to the door, “Come on, Kenny,” She said, making the boy stand up, “Let’s leave Eve to rest and get better.”

“You’re leaving just like that?” Eve questioned, incredulously.

“Yes, just like this, Eve.” Carolyn told her over her shoulder. “Unlike you, some of us _still_ have a job and wish to maintain it. Don’t worry, though. Hospital bills have been paid in full.”

“By who? _You?”_

“No, Kenny.”

Eve’s eyes moved from the arrogant Carolyn to her guilty-looking son.

“See you around, Eve.” Carolyn finished as she moved to and through the door, “Come on, Kenny.”

Kenny looked at the door before looking at Eve, “I’ll text you soon,” He ushered the whisper out before quickly following his mother.

And then Eve was alone once more.

She let her head hit the pillow.

* * *

Which cocktail should she try next?

She had been sitting on that bar for hours now, on her own, ordering one by one several different cocktails, judging them _solely_ by their name, ignoring their ingredients _completely,_ though she did manage to order only those made with vodka, somehow.

Villanelle had no clue how that happened.

Still, it was only a happy coincidence as the bartender brought her drink after drink and she chugged it down, grimacing freely whenever the drink was awful in taste and licking her lips whenever it was tastier than she imagined.

But her last one had been finished, so she wanted a new one and she wanted it _now._

She was in mourning, after all, dressed all in black and letting her soul cry, for she had killed Eve Polastri.

Her lip twitched with something she did not want to acknowledge at the moment as she thought of the agent, so her mind dropped the subject.

She started looking at the drink menu once more, seeing on her peripheral vision how the bartender mutely approached her.

She liked him, she decided. Unlike the usual, disgusting behavior bartenders display when she sits on the bar on her own, those who try to seduce her body into their beds and only seduce her knife into their throats.

No, this one was definitely not like them.

He had short black hair and a bushy beard, all perfectly trimmed so that not a hair was out of place. Dressed as fancily as his establishment demanded, in a black shirt, vest and bowtie, he looked at her in the eyes every time he moved towards her and didn’t say a thing other than _What can I get for you?_ The first time she ordered, remaining quiet in all of the following others.

She liked him not being nosy. She liked him not being disgusting.

She kept eyeing the menu, trying to find something that sounded _cool—_

_Death in the Afternoon._

Her eyes remained glued to that one sentence of a name, re-reading it time after time, pronouncing the words _Death in the Afternoon_ time after time inside her head.

Around the words, she could hear the click of the trigger as she pulled it.

Then the click of the trigger came followed by the bang of the bullet, coming out of her gun.

Then the bang of the bullet served as the cue for the sound of Eve’s body hitting the floor to come up.

 _Death in the Afternoon, click, bang, thud._ Dead _in the Afternoon, click, bang, thud._

The sound of her heels as she walked away.

_Click, bang, thud._

_All in just one afternoon._

“I’ll have this one.” She announced, watching the likeable bartender as he nodded his head only once and began to prepare her deadly cocktail.

He got a bottle of absinthe and another one of champagne out of somewhere and Villanelle’s eyes widened as he poured both into the mix.

_Literally death._

But her surprise didn’t last much as something caught her eye.

Someone.

She turned to look at her as she kept moving. A woman, whose face she did not see, but that _wild_ black, curly hair…

“I’ll have two of these, actually,” She said to the bartender, watching him nod once and pour another one.

And while he prepared it, she laid out her trap.

She didn’t allow herself to think as she moved towards the mysterious woman and bumped against her, successfully making her spill most of her drink to the ground.

As the woman turned to look at whoever made her make such a mess, Villanelle put her most horrified expression and, “Oh God, I’m so clumsy!” She looked at this woman in the eye, “I’m sorry for that.”

The older woman — Around her forties, Villanelle deduced —smiled and shook her head, “It’s alright. I had enough to drink anyway,” She joked so as to be polite.

Villanelle smiled at her, “Oh, but that was such a waste, I feel kinda bad for ruining it for you.”

“It’s okay, really—”

“Let me invite you a drink.” She said, stepping millimetrically closer, her eyelids heavier as her gaze became lazier, her smile smaller as if it were just the hint of a smile, her head already inclined towards the bar and one of her hands slowly making its’ way to the other woman’s waist.

And it all did the trick.

“Okay.”

So, with that charm of hers on, Villanelle guided her back to the bar.

_Death in the Afternoon._

_Click, bang, thud._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello y'all! I think I already got a course of action for this fic.
> 
> In other news, do any of y'all have some discord, groupchat or whatever where y'all talk about killing eve because I need to VENT these feelings and hearing what others think would be awesome lmfao
> 
> Comments? leave em below!
> 
> Mili <3


	3. I Don't Give A Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle is faced with horrendous discoveries of how her life might have changed. Eve is faced with old news of how her life had changed.

It all had happened in such a quick succession, Villanelle wasn’t quite sure how it was possible for the lady from the bar to be already in her bed.

First, they were drinking a _Hemingway_ each _—_ Villanelle learned the drink had another name and for no apparent reason decided she liked the other name better —chitchatting a bit about something the assassin didn’t care enough to remember.

Then, she had asked her something like _Have you ever been fucked by a woman?_ In such an abrupt way that the woman —Veera from Finland, if Villanelle could recall correctly, though she wasn’t sure —could do nothing but instinctively answer with the truth, a quickly blurted out _No,_ product of an unexpected question in a quick conversation.

And after that, somehow, the russian woman managed to convince her into going back to her hotel, probably just by getting closer, using her tactics from before, lowering her tone an octave and making her voice sound like a whisper as she asked her _Want to know how it feels?_

And there they were: Villanelle on top of some stranger, her fingers working wonders that made _Veera? From Finland?_ moan and squirm and—

—And she was not enjoying it.

_Fuck._

But she could enjoy it, she could try to make herself enjoy it.

She looked at the other woman and—

_Eve—_

_—_ And stiffened.

_No._

Eve, _Veera,_ noticed. With a slowly forming frown, as she came down from a high that was about to make her come undone —but not anymore —she looked at Villanelle and asked, “What’s wrong?”

And Villanelle was automatically irritated but at the same time grateful for the high pitched voice and the weird accent, for it brought her back to reality and suddenly Eve was gone and Veera was back right in front of her eyes.

But she was not enjoying it.

She pulled out unexpectedly, making Veera flinch at her movements and gasp at the sudden lack of contact, watching Villanelle as she wiped her fingers on the woman’s thigh before moving to the side of the bed, getting up and moving to her wardrobe, ignoring the handgun that was right next to whatever she was looking for.

“What are you doing?” Veera from Finland asked her, “Where are you going?”

Villanelle reappeared in front of her, some kind of silken robe covering her body. “Me? Nowhere. You? Out.”

Veera frowned. “What do you mean—”

“And learn how to talk in another accent because you sound annoying.” Villanelle interrupted her with an irritated expression, “Grab your stuff and _go,_ before you piss me off _.”_ She commanded once more, watching how the woman went from confused to angry and quickly got up, grabbing what little clothing she had with her.

But once she was standing, still naked, with all of her belongings in her hands, Veera sneered at her. “You’re disgusting.”

Villanelle stared right back at her. “Didn’t I tell you to fucking leave?”

And she saw the woman was about to protest again, clearly feeling lead on, clearly bothered by Villanelle’s sudden change, so she automatically grabbed the gun and stomped her way towards the other woman, shouting, “ _Go! Go! Go!”_ As Veera’s look of anger vanished to leave place to one of pure terror and the naked woman ran towards the door, opening it and banging it closed once she was out.

She couldn’t hear the _click, bang, thud_ anymore and she would have been happy about it, were it not for the fact that she couldn’t hear it because her mind’s eye was too busy recreating the picture of Eve on the ground.

Not the moments before.

No moment after, whatsoever.

The sound of silence and blood pooling up underneath her.

Static.

Eternally still.

Her whole body was shaking with the thought, but she did not want to acknowledge it.

She remained still for a second, trying to cleanse her mind from the intrusive thoughts, gun still on her hand and eyes vaguely placed on the door to her hotel room, unfocused enough that she couldn’t distinguish where one object finished and another one started.

She pushed the images out of her mind only for them to reappear seconds after and Villanelle started to lose patience at herself.

 _At herself._ It was the _first time ever_ since she could remember anything that she was pissed _at herself._

At herself, for not being able to let go.

Then, at _Eve,_ for a few things.

_Saying no. Turning her back on me. Leaving me._

_Dying._

_Fuck Eve for dying._

Click, bang, thud.

_Stop._

Blood, pooling up underneath her limp, lifeless body.

_Stop._

Death in the Afternoon.

_Stop._

Dead, due to her own hand.

“ _Stop!”_ The assassin roared into the silence of her hotel room as she lost what she grasped of her mind, sending the handgun flying across the room and moving around the mess where she was staying at.

_Click—_

“ _Stop!”_ She threw the bed’s pillows to the wall with all of her force and kept moving.

_Bang—_

_“Stop!”_ She pushed the TV to the ground, watching it break before moving again.

_Thud—_

_“Stop!”_ She kicked the trash can, watching as all its’ contents jumped out of it, moving into the bathroom so as to escape the Hell of her own head.

_Dead._

She screamed at her reflection one last time, an intelligible thing, before bringing her fist against the mirror and breaking it, managing to destroy her image in it, but unable to escape the tears that fell from her eyes, which she could still see in the pieces that created a kaleidoscope around her now bloody hand.

It wasn’t her fault, she decided.

It was Eve’s.

For failing her. For dying.

For ruining her.

_Click, bang, thud._

_And she deserved it._

She hopped in the shower, ready to clean herself from Eve’s scent.

_Veera. Her name was Veera._

* * *

 

Her house was depressing.

It was like half of it was suddenly missing; the half that made it a _home,_ instead of just a house.

_Niko’s half._

After finally waking up in that hospital, Eve had to stay for a few weeks more until she was cleared to leave. Naturally, Kenny had been considerate enough to leave her some fresh clothes and her phone, so she wouldn’t be completely helpless once she was out.

The one thing she _hadn’t_ expected, though, was Niko’s reluctance to pick up any of the times she had tried to call him.

Seven calls. None picked up.

It had made her a bit pissed off at her _husband,_ but once she managed to flag down a cab and ride it home, she understood his reasons _not_ to pick up.

_He didn’t pick up because he’s not available._

_Because he’s_ gone.

There was no memory of him in her house, whatsoever. She had already checked twice and there was absolutely nothing that could possibly be his.

That had been the first thing she had done as soon as she arrived; inspect the house, thoroughly.

If anyone asked her, she would have claimed it was because she didn’t know where Niko was.

If she was forced to be honest with herself, she would have to confess it was because she wondered if Villanelle had stopped by.

But she was _not_ going to be honest with anybody, not even herself.

So, happily ignoring the truth for a bit, she had inspected her own house only to find Niko gone.

She let herself fall back on the settee with a sigh as she took off her shoes and rested for a second, using the moment to finally address him in her head, ignoring how her phone had buzzed once in her pocket.

Niko was now definitely —and finally —out of the picture.

In a way, that was exactly what she had wanted from the very beginning: for Niko to be _out._

He was the ball and chain that anchored her to her black-and-white life: routines followed down to a T, a lovey-dovey household where her lovey-dovey husband would always be waiting for her, cook for her, even clean for her, completely ordinary sex that did not bring her joy anymore, even if he had somehow learned with time and did manage to make her come often times…

A black-and-white life, where everyone knew what was right and everyone knew what was wrong. No colors, no scale of greys.

Adjusting to the gamerules was right. Wanting to change them was not.

He was normal. She did not want normal in her life, anymore.

She had outgrown the ordinary, finally accepting that maybe it wasn’t her thing in the end and that she needed something else, something _extraordinary,_ which Niko —and all of the things Niko brought linked to him —was not.

_So why do I miss him?_

She was aware of that sting in her heart, the lump in her throat, the sudden weakness of her limbs, the tears that quietly fell from her eyes.

_Shit._

She wiped them off with the sleeve of her sweater, slowly evening her quaking breathing so as to calm down, unsure of when she had started crying.

She was changing and the whole concept excited her but at the same time terrified her.

The thing about change is that it’s terrifying. Whether one changes for better or for worse, life changing decisions and actions always appear as the darkness of the unknown that one has to face with nothing but a match and, once its’ flame goes out, you’re left in the void.

Alone.

And maybe that’s what terrified Eve.

That she had to face her change on her own, without the one who had been by her side since the very beginning.

_Niko._

Niko, with his tasty cuisine and his boring sexual positions and his gentle tone and his ridiculously big moustache.

_Niko._

With his promise of an unexceptional life with average problems and average solutions, typical traditions and regular adventures.

_Niko._

With his light that shone off her darkness.

_Niko._

Eve sighed, letting herself finally feel the pain of her husband no longer being it.

Her mind conjured up the thought of Gemma and, despite everything, she smiled.

 _Maybe it_ was _right, to let her take him away._

Maybe Gemma was the reason why he had not come back to her. Having seen her darkness firsthand, maybe Niko wanted to run away from it, let himself fear it for what it was and use that fear to move on and rebuild himself and his life alongside someone like him.

Someone like Gemma.

 _Someone and that someone_ being _Gemma._

She didn’t blame him for leaving because she could admit with no shame whatsoever that, once she had learned about Villanelle, the game was over for Niko and her, because finally meeting Villanelle was seeing all of her speculations and fantasies and obsessions be brought to life in front of her eyes instead of being just inside her mind, words written in her little journal of ideas and concepts and _what-ifs._

The fact that Villanelle was a thing that existed made her see her life for what it was: not enough.

Not enough for her, Eve Polastri —because she decided she _could_ keep that one thing of his, his last name —who had a particular obsession with female assassins.

Not enough for her, Eve Polastri, who found in Villanelle someone she _liked,_ despite her being awfully annoying.

Not enough for her, Eve Polastri, who decided maybe it was time she accepted herself for who she was and not who everyone else expected her to be.

_Fucked up in a way only a similarly fucked up person can see and understand._

_Unhappy with the ordinary and craving the extraordinary, even if I feel it’s too much for me sometimes, even if I’m a bit terrified of it, still._

_Not as nice as everyone believed, not as nice as everyone_ made me _believe._

_Dark and bad and mean and dirty, with a moral compass that sometimes decides to stop working, sometimes decides to start working again, always depending on the implications of my actions and what they would mean for me in terms of consequences._

Because ever since Villanelle abandoned her in Rome, as time passed and she was still alone, still trapped in her solitude, alive but not and awake but not, Eve allowed herself to think and allowed herself to get to know this new her that was hiding inside.

 _This new me that maybe is not_ that _new, but had been hiding all this time._

In her time alone she allowed herself to explore this other Eve Polastri but always toeing the line, always careful enough not to acknowledge that the old Eve Polastri no longer coexisted with the new one and was in fact dead, finally shot down in Rome by Villanelle, leaving room only for the darker Eve to finally bloom.

Always careful enough not to address that she was not standing in front of a new her, but was in fact standing in front of a mirror, finally recognizing what her reflection looked like.

But she was kind of tired of pretending, of toeing the line.

_Maybe it’s time to cross it._

Because, _Hell,_ she did feel shock at killing Raymond but she didn’t care that much.

Didn’t feel that much guilt.

Didn’t care for his children and his wife.

_Simply put, I don’t give a shit._

And it was the first time in quite a very long time that she was being one hundred percent honest with herself.

She let out a huff of a laugh.

_I don’t give a shit._

She knew that was more than just subtly fucked up.

“I don’t give a shit,” She said, out loud, stretching her arms to her sides as she did so, as if stating it would let her weigh the meanings hidden behind such a fact, materialize them and make them real.

In regards to the cold, hard fact, it was the truth and she knew it: she didn’t care about Raymond being dead and she didn’t care about having killed him. Sure, she _might_ have cared for a while as her brain tried to process that information, her moral compass coming into play and deciding to make her feel like shit for it, but once it started malfunctioning as it seemed to do more often than not now, she realized she didn’t care that much, anymore.

She didn’t care because she didn’t care about _him._

She didn’t care because, in the heat of the moment, she cared about _Villanelle_ and ensuring she’d be safe and sound.

She didn’t care because at the moment she _wanted him_ _dead_ and it didn’t matter if _she_ killed him or _Villanelle_ did, because she just wanted him dead, gone, uselessly laying on the floor, drowning in a pool of his own blood, because he was probably a bastard.

_I mean, come on, an axe? That’s some sadistic shit._

But then again, she didn't know _for sure_ that he was one. He just deducted it.

It was a way of coping with her guilt that her brain had come up with while she tried to get over the shock, the trauma, because she hadn’t been ready in that moment to kill someone, let alone as brutally as she did, but she could see now that she no longer needed that coping mechanism, for the shock _and_ the trauma were gone.

_Like the old Eve Polastri._

She laughed once more.

_Out with the old! In with the new._

So she finally accepted, after being God knows how long in a sort of coma, after being weeks confined to her tiny hospital bedroom that she was not the same, that Niko was gone, that she had witnessed deaths and she hadn’t minded it, that she had killed and she didn’t quite mind it, either.

That she was, indeed, like—

_Like Villanelle._

She frowned.

“I’m just like Villanelle,” She said out loud, once again testing the waters.

But it did not feel right.

She didn’t feel any kind of negative emotion as she said it, as she considered the possibility of it being real, it just didn’t feel _right._

As if such statement was simply wrong.

Eve’s frown deepened. She had been so busy avoiding thinking about it until she was ready to face the truth, so content in her blissful ignorance, that she had not considered the alternative: that both Villanelle and her had been wrong.

That she wasn’t like her. Not an exact reflection.

_Fucked up, yes, but not in the same way._

It was a surprising discovery.

She stared at the ceiling, unwilling to move from her seat. Was she or was she not like the _psychopath?_

And how on Earth was she supposed to find out?

A memory came to her, a product of her own imagination so strong it might as well have been an actual thing that happened.

_It means you have to find me to find out._

And it all came to her.

The strong, rough accent and that feline face and that feral smile and those almost entirely inaccessible eyes, lazy yet focused, vague yet deep.

Contradictions and parallels.

And she realized she had to find Villanelle one last time if she wanted to end the discovery of herself, because she could admit now that she couldn’t live with the question left unanswered and it was only alongside Villanelle that she could find answers.

She had to find Villanelle one last time because she simply couldn’t leave it alone, leave _her_ alone, be left with no closure to their shared waltz.

She had to find Villanelle because she wanted to check if they were, indeed, the same and because she craved the extraordinary abnormality that the chase meant, juxtaposed to the ordinary normality of simply letting her be.

The adrenaline of having the russian point a gun to her heart and gaze at her lips as she licked her own, promising two very different kinds of death, one very terrifying and the other oh so deadly rapturous, both as passionate.

The excitement of surprising the almost-impossible-to-surprise killer and watching her eyes widen and her pupils grow with the intensity of their shared moments, feeling in her soul how liquid ecstasy ran through the blonde’s veins at the mere sight of Eve Polastri finally letting go of her societal norms and following Villanelle’s: no norms at all.

She did crave the killer. Did want her. Did need her.

She used to hate to admit it but could now think it freely.

_I want you._

To Hell with professionalism.

A hard set of knocks on her door startled her.

She looked at it in a concerned confusion, for there was nobody who could be coming to visit her and there was nobody she knew that would knock so rudely.

She vaguely remembered her phone going off some while ago and quickly inspected it, ignoring the second set of knocks.

A message, from Kenny.

_Can’t call you, you got ten minutes to run._

She gulped at the fact that the message had been sent nine minutes ago.

As her brain finished the quick processing of Kenny’s warning of a threat to her life hidden in his text message, her house’s door was kicked down.

And it was when she looked up and saw two men coming into her house, guns pointed at her, that she knew she had nowhere to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, such suspense, amirite folks?
> 
> Leave your thoughts on the comments, even the smallest of em are appreciated <3
> 
> Much love,  
> Mili.


	4. Sucks To Suck, Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve has a little conversation with her two unexpected guests.

It surprised even herself how she managed to remain calm, despite having two men aiming their guns at her and making their way towards her.

She couldn’t help the quiet _Oh, no_ that escaped her mouth as she recognized one of the two bastards.

_The bald jackass from the hotel in Rome._

_“_ Eve Polastri?” The smaller one with a head full of hair asked her.

“That would be me, unfortunately.” Eve replied, pointedly ignoring the burning stare of the other guy...

...But he did not take the hint.

“ _Eve?”_ She heard the bloke say, “ _You_ ’re this Eve we’re looking for, not some cute asian woman I was told lived in _Rome?”_ He questioned, his thick accent making the former MI6 agent grimace.

She looked at him, trying to hide her annoyance and embarrassment behind a small smile. “I’m Eve, the asian woman who definitely does _not_ live in Rome.” She sighed, “Look, buddy—”

“ _Danny!”_ He interrupted her, “The name’s _Danny,”_ He made a pained look, mumbling, “You don’t even remember that,” As he did so, clearly hurt from the newfound information.

Eve nodded her head, “Okay, _Danny—”_

“I went back to the hotel, you know?” He interfered once more, “I went back to look for you at six, sharp, ready for our sushi, and you weren’t there—”

“I was too busy running for my life, _dipshit!”_ She cut him off, already tired of him. “Not my fault if you happen to be looking for some _Eve_ who _happens to be me_ in the desires of, what? Killing me?” She scoffed, “Sorry if I did what I had to in order to _survive_ and ended up breaking a few hearts in the process.”

A few. Because she was certain she had broken _at least_ two, maybe three or four.

She stared at _Danny_ as the smaller thug with hair on his head frowned at them, his eyes going from his partner to Eve, confusion evident on his silence, while Danny just stared at Eve in disbelief.

“Damn,” The taller one finally responded, “That’s cold, Miss.” He said, with a solemn look on his face. “I really liked you.”

“Well, sucks to suck, man.” She replied, already sick and tired of whatever was going on there. Looking at the smaller man, she asked, “Who the Hell even are you two?”

The question caught him by surprise as he was still trying to understand the interaction between Eve and Danny, so he simply replied, “Well, my name’s Jonah—”

“ _I mean what the Hell do you want with me!”_ Eve raised her voice, feeling like she was about to explode, uncertain whether it was because of the adrenaline she felt for the situation she was in or if it was because, apparently, Jonah and Danny were completely useless idiots.

It all felt so surreal to her, she was about to politely ask them to shoot her down so as to spare herself from the madness.

“We actually don’t want anything with you.” Jonah said, before laughing, “Well, maybe Danny here does, but that’s another story.”

“Please,” Eve replied, closing her eyes for a second. “Stop fucking around for a second and tell me—”

“I just told you,” Jonah said, emphasizing his words and successfully quieting Eve down by pressing the end of his gun against her forehead, getting closer to her. “We want nothing _with_ you. We want something _from_ you, instead.”

“And what would that be?” Eve asked more politely, this time.

“We’re looking for the asset who goes under the codename Villanelle.” He let out, as if repeating word by word what he had been told he should say. “Where is she?”

Eve took in a deep breath, “I don’t know.”

She saw Danny sit down next to her, his gun visible, while Jonah sighed and took a seat to her other side, his own weapon placed against her temple, “Look,” He started, “I’m going to be honest with you; the Twelve couldn’t care less about you, but they do care a lot about Villanelle. You see, that bitch left a big mess in _Danny’s and Eve’s hotel of love,_ which prompted our bosses to want her out of the picture because they did not like what she did, so the deal is simple: you give us her location and we leave you alone.”

_That bitch left a big mess._

It occurred to Eve that Raymond had been wrong with what he had said before she killed him: the Twelve would _not_ go after her.

They wouldn’t, because they simply couldn’t conceive the idea that _Eve Polastri_ had been Raymond’s murderer.

_They don’t know it was me who did it._

_They think it was Villanelle._

And thus, somewhat and somehow, Eve Polastri, through looking completely helpless and harmless, managed to save her ass, once more.

She fought the urge to laugh.

“Look, Jonah,” She started, “I’d _love_ to tell you where Villanelle is because _even I_ want her to get her ass whooped, but I, unfortunately, don’t know where she’s hiding.”

Jonah did not like such an answer. “Last time she was seen, you two were together.”

Eve was ready to counteract. “That was the last time _you_ saw her. Last time _I_ saw her, she _shot_ me and left me to bleed out.” She told him, raising a brow at his subtle yet present look of surprise. “See? I’m not exactly on good terms with her either, so I have no clue where she could be right now. For all I know, she might be somewhere in—”

_Don’t say it—_

_“—in Alaska,_ or some place like that.”

Her words made the thug frown at her for a second, “Why Alaska, of all places?”

 _What on Earth made you believe saying such a thing was a sensible thing to do?_ Eve shrugged, “I don’t know, I don’t care.” She raised her brows,  “Beats me.”

Despite the fact that Eve had told him the truth, Jonah stared at her for a hard minute.

Truth be told, the fact that she had accepted a few things about herself and that she felt the need to find the russian one more time did not mean she wasn’t angry at the blonde. Hell, Eve was _beyond pissed off_ at her, feeling used by the assassin, manipulated and forced into things she was not ready to do, see, acknowledge. Lied to, betrayed, _almost killed,_ all she felt whenever she thought of Villanelle being in front of her was _fury,_ pure _rage_ ready to be unleashed on the killer.

 _Instead of killing what she loves, I want to kill_ her, _now._

She hid the smirk that attempted to appear over her lips.

_Character development._

Even if she _did_ want to damn professionalism and do whatever she pleased with the killer, she also considered she’d let her rage come out first and _only when that was finished_ would she address the clearly-present attraction for the blonde.

And she would have happily fantasized about giving the blonde a near death experience, analyzing different routes, like stabbing her _twice_ instead of only one miserable time, but the sound of Jonah’s gun’s safety being disengaged brought her back to reality at breakneck speed.

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here,” The man told her. “I’m not _politely asking_ you whether you know or not, I’m _ordering_ you to _tell me_ her location. If you know it or not, that’s _your_ problem to solve.”

It didn’t make sense, “How can I possibly tell you where she is if I don’t know it myself?”

“It is no secret that Villanelle has a sort of _fixation_ with you.” Jonah explained, smiling at her, the expression devoid of joy, “And it’s also public knowledge that you are the only person on Earth, apparently, who somehow manages to always know how, when and where to find her.”

“I’m telling you I have _no clue—”_

 _“_ And I’m telling you I don’t care if you know or not.” Jonah growled, pushing his gun against her head. “The asset has _vanished_ from our bosses’ radars and you’ve done a pretty damn fine job finding her before, when she was pretty much untrackable for you and your people, so you’re going to find her again or—”

“Or _what?”_ Eve dared, tired of being pushed around by him. “You’re going to _kill me?”_ She asked him, before huffing a laugh. “Boy, I’ve had the _asset who goes under the codename Villanelle,_ as you call her, try that same feat and _fail._ Despite that, though, I’m going to give it to her, she _did_ manage to ruin my whole life so _please_ , be my guest and just _get this over with.”_ And she had the nerve to _look_ _bored_ as she said, “You’ll find out very soon that I don’t really give a shit.”

Yet her heart was pounding underneath her skin, her ribs, her flesh.

_I don’t give a shit, though. I really don’t._

The fear of the unknown was the only thing that made her fight to keep herself alive.

_I don’t give a shit, anyway._

_It all goes back to that simple statement, now._

Looking calm in a way that she wasn’t, Eve stared at Jonah as he analyzed her surprisingly neutral expression.

She distracted her pounding heart and racing mind from the adrenaline of facing a certain death by letting herself be surprised at _how well_ she was managing to look deadly bored and deadly serious, when—

“You’re right,” Jonah finally answered, sighing as if in defeat. “We don’t earn a thing by taking you out of the picture, Miss Polastri.”

And knowing that she was right made her feel _so_ powerful—

“But maybe taking _Kenny_ out _will_ have an impact, won’t it?”

She turned around to look at Danny, only to find him inspecting her text messages, for she had stupidly left her phone unattended, to her side.

“Or maybe we should ask _Niko_ what he thinks about the whole situation, right?”

She turned to look at Jonah, who was simply staring at her.

“Or Elena.” She didn’t turn to look at Danny anymore.

“Or Hugo.” She still felt rather guilty about leaving him to his own luck.

“Or Jess—”

“I think I got it.” She finally forced them to stop naming names, the power she had felt mere seconds ago vanished as Jonah smiled cruelly at her.

“We don’t care how, Miss Polastri.” He said. “We just want you to find Villanelle, or else…” He shrugged, “Well, I guess you’d know the rest.” He pretended to look at a watch on his wrist, despite having none. “Would you look at the time!” He gave her an exaggerated, tight lipped smile. “We’ve _got_ to go. But it was nice chatting with you! Come on, Danny.”

At his command, both of them stood up and walked towards her door.

“Oh and, Miss Polastri, one last thing.” Jonah said, as if remembering just then, calling her attention as he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “Don’t try anything stupid, for the Twelve will be watching you.”

And as Eve nodded, the expression of someone who had just seen a ghost on her face, Jonah smiled once more, gleefully said _Cheers!_ And walked away.

And Eve immediately got to action.

Standing up and quickly gathering what little things she considered essentials —money and her phone —she put them on her purse while she called Kenny on her way out and—

—And she stopped by the door, catching the gleam of a kitchen knife a few feet away from her.

As Kenny still didn’t pick up, she quickly moved towards the knife and put it away inside her purse.

_“Hello?”_

She made it through the main door’s threshold as she replied, “I need your help.”

“ _Eve—”_

 _“_ Not over the phone,” She warned him, her mind unable to forget Aaron Peel’s _weapon_ and Jonah’s last words to her, fearing they might have gotten their hands on it. “I’m going to your house, now.”

She hung up before he could complain and quickly made her way there, finding it impossible to stop thinking of the million threats, the kitchen knife in her purse, the assassin who vanished like such a thing was possible.

* * *

“Is your mom home?”

Kenny had to think the answer for a second as he finished opening the door, having not expected the woman to ask him something so fast. “No, she isn’t—”

“Good,” Eve replied, walking past him to enter the house, turning to look at him as she said, “I’m going to need your help with something.”

“Yeah, you told me that.” Kenny replied, closing the door and frowning at the woman with both confusion and concern.

Eve watched him as he moved to the living room and followed suit, seeing him take a seat and refusing to do the same as she finally blurted out, “I need to find Villanelle.”

The request brought a look of disbelief to his face, “Eve!”

“I _know_ what I’m asking of you sounds _crazy,_ but—”

“But you’re still going to try to find the _psycho—”_

 _“_ She’s not necessarily a _psycho—”_

 _“_ That left you to _die_ in Rome?! Are you _crazy?!”_ He was standing now, losing his mind at Eve’s request, when it finally registered in his brain what she had mumbled, “And what the Hell do you mean by _not necessarily a psycho?_ She’s tried to _kill you—”_

“ _She has psychopathic traits_ , alright,” Eve cut him off, “I’ll give you that, we cannot deny it, but she isn’t completely—”

“What—”

“Do _not_ interrupt me and do _not_ give me that look,” Eve warned, a finger up, “I’ve had a _lot_ of time to myself in the hospital and all I could do was think or read, so I read a bit to distract myself sometimes.” She explained, knowing Kenny was wondering where she got that information from. “And _yes,_ I was curious about psychopathy for _no apparent reason.”_

Nevermind that she wondered if she herself was one.

“No apparent reason, other than a russian killer.”

Eve rolled her eyes, “Oh, shut up.”

Kenny shook his head, “Didn’t you learn anything from Martin’s presentation?”

“Martin came into the office and _tried_ to make us believe you either _are_ a psycho or aren’t and that’s _wrong,_ because there’s no such thing as _psychopaths,_ but people who show certain... “ She looked for a word, “ _Symptoms,_ let’s call them.”

Kenny was trying and failing to follow her. “Okay, the professional is wrong and psychopathy is just the name for some symptoms, like the flu or something…”

Eve rolled her eyes at her choice of words, knowing full well she accidentally made it look like a _disease_ in Kenny’s eyes, instead of simply being, as she’d like to call it, _particularly unique personality traits._

She sighed and sat down, not before putting her hand on Kenny’s shoulder and forcing him to take a seat, too. “I believe that presentation was very misleading on _purpose.”_ She shook her head, “I don’t know, but all the reading I did indicated that it’s not such a black-and-white matter.” She looked at him, “Everyone’s a little bit fucked up, some more than others. Villanelle more than your average Joe, for sure, but I think we can all agree that Aaron Peel was far more fucked up than her… And why am I explaining all of this to you?” She suddenly questioned, snorting at the situation they both ended up in, before shaking her head so as to clear it from her thoughts and start again, “Kenny, I need to find her.”

“And you were explaining all of that to me just to try and make an excuse for yourself because you’re trying to come up with a valid reason why you’d want to find her other than the sick relationship-like thing you have with her.”

Eve looked at him with something intense hiding behind her dark eyes. “No, Kenny. Trust me when I say that this is not about her and I at all.” She confessed, “If I had her in front of me right now, all I’d want to do would be kill her with my bare hands, so it feels personal.” Then, upon seeing the wild look on his face at her confession, she shook her head, “I have no choice here. I _got_ to find her.”

“But why—”

“ _Why_ did you send me that message a little while ago?”

It made Kenny’s blood run cold, but he answered nonetheless, “Two men entered the house a while ago, looking for mum.” He told her, “I hid and they didn’t find me, but I heard them saying they’d go find you next, since mum wasn’t here. since you don’t live _that_ far, I figured you’d—”

“Have roughly ten minutes to escape.”

“Yeah,” Kenny added, “I’m glad you—”

“No, I didn’t,” She replied to the question implied in the statement he didn’t finish making, “They found me.”

The information shocked him. “Eve—”

“They were sent by the Twelve.” She explained with a serious look on her face. “They want to find Villanelle and take her out. They thought I’d know her whereabouts and I told them I didn’t, but they know I have a special _ability_ when it comes to finding her, so now they want me to do it for them.” She finally told him, seeing as his eyes remained wide, his lips parting as he tried to get some word out but failed. “I told them I couldn’t find her anymore and they made very threatening warnings about what would happen if I didn’t comply. Kenny,” She held his hands on hers, shaking her head with a heartbroken look in her eyes as she said, “I don’t have a choice here. Whether I like it or not, I’ve _got_ to find her.”

They remained like that, quiet and immobile for a while as Kenny thought about Eve’s words.

“There’s no talking you out of it, right? No trying to persuade you about searching for another solution?” He tried with a calm tone, that sensible voice of his.

Eve shook her head, “I’m afraid not.”

So, with a sigh, Kenny finally surrendered.

“Let’s find Villanelle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the good thing about having a sister who happens to be a psychologist is that you can investigate about personality disorders without all the internet's misleading information (unlike martin's lil presentation).
> 
> I'm trying my best at writing these two ladies as in character as possible so please do let me know if I fuck up.
> 
> Would love to know what you have to say on this lil chapter!
> 
> Mili.


	5. She Wanted Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Kenny strategize and, after planning it out, start playing the game. Villanelle continues with her own match, unaware of the new players.

“What are we doing here, Kenny?”

The annoyed tone did not go unnoticed by the boy, but he disregarded it anyway. “Just trust me, Eve.”

And she really wanted to do just that, but it was hard to trust him when all he did ever since declaring he’d help her was just bring her to a _comic book store._

Still, Eve remained quiet as they entered the small and rather worn out shop, a little bell ringing as Kenny opened the door and let her in first, before going in himself.

“Welcome to Rapture City Comics!” The greeting made Eve’s heart almost jump out of her chest as she had not seen the awkward-looking boy on the other side of a counter, inside the small store. “How may I…” He drifted off as his eyes finally landed on Eve, frowning a bit at his unexpected _client,_ “...help you?”

“Hi, Scotty,” Kenny said, diffusing the rather uncomfortable situation Eve was in as _Scotty_ looked at him.

“Oh, Kenny, mate!” Scott replied, his brown eyes alit with glee as he saw his friend, adjusting his eyeglasses as he watched Kenny move towards him and give him a fistbump. “How are you doing?” He asked in a rather happy tone.

_Too happy._

Eve felt he sounded like too much: too fake, too acted, as this bloke’s eyes went from Kenny to her in quick flashes.

_Scotty and Kenny share a secret._

Her deductive skills were proven to still be flawless as Kenny relaxed his shoulders and said, “It’s okay, Scott.” He looked at Eve over his shoulder. “She knows.”

Scott frowned at the statement. “Does she?”

Kenny nodded his head vigorously. “Yeah.”

“Oh, thank God,” Scott said, finally letting go of his act, “You know I suck at lying.”

Kenny sighed, “I know.”

Eve didn’t question them as Scott ushered them both to his side of the counter and walked back to the cash register, watching as he moved a poster that was hanging from the wall behind him aside, her eyes widening as she saw a _keyhole_ that had been hiding behind it.

She saw him pull a key out of his pocket and stick it in, turning it and opening the secret door, a set of stairs going downwards being on the other side of it. “Okay, down you go.” He told them, nervously looking at the store’s door, as if afraid of someone barging in.

Kenny went down first, Eve following him closely, looking back at Scott as he closed the door behind them, before looking forwards again, finishing walking down the stairs only to be met with a basement with two computers set up, both with several screens and keyboards and hard drives and— “Kenny what the fuck is all of this?”

She watched him turn around, looking at her with bored eyes and a neutral expression. “Let’s say I decided to go freelance.”

“Freelance—”

“Do you really think I’d be foolish enough to trust my mum blindly after all the times she played both of us?” Kenny asked her, making his way towards the computer she guessed was his, “I feel like I can’t trust anyone now, so I investigate what I feel needs to be investigated on my free time, with Scotty as my only partner in crime.”

Eve was grimacing. “What are you investigating now?”

Kenny shrugged. “I’ve been trying to find links between my mum and the Twelve but I’ve found nothing thus far.”

“And do you really think it’s a wise thing to do, to share information _that_ delicate with some nerd named _Scott?”_

“Hey, don’t be rude!” Kenny warned, “Scott is a really nice guy and he actually knew about the Twelve before I even told him about it.” Upon seeing Eve raise her eyebrows and open her mouth to ask him about it, he quickly added, “He’s a conspiracy theory enthusiast and he’s actually found out _a lot_ of actually true information on his own.” He sighed, “I needed someplace to set _my office_ up and he needed someone who could offer confirmation to his own investigations, so we naturally ended teaming up.” He shrugged, “Now, he lets me do my thing here and helps me sometimes. He’s not some idiot, unlike what you may want to believe.”

Eve slowly nodded her head, “Okay, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, there.”

Kenny turned on the monstrous machine in front of him. “You’d better, since I’m the only one who’s willing to help you find Villanelle.”

Eve could admit defeat this one time. “Okay, you’re right. You win.” She said, smirking despite herself at the sight of Kenny’s triumphant look as she walked towards him, bringing the other computer’s chair with her and placing it next to her new partner, taking a seat and intently looking at the screen.

Her creepy behavior made Kenny freeze for a second, slowly turning his head towards her, “What are you doing?”

Eve’s concentrated eyes moved from the screen to his face, “I’m staring at the screen, waiting for you to _do something_.”

“How fast do you think I work?”

“I don’t know, man, I had two dudes point their guns at me a while ago, I’m still high with the adrenaline, let a woman _live.”_

“Damn, okay, okay,” Kenny responded at her hissing tone, “No need to get all defensive.”

“ _You_ get me defensive.” She replied out of instinct, before catching sight of a very annoyed look on Kenny’s face, realizing just how on edge she was and finally saying, “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean that, but I’m still nervous about the whole—”

 

“It’s okay, Eve.” Kenny replied, not meeting her eyes, remaining quiet for a minute until he dared confess, “I guess I’m still a bit hurt by you kicking me out of the MI6 team, you know?” He shrugged, “I must be honest with you, that was a really shitty thing for you to do.”

Eve was genuinely sorry about it. “I know. I’m sorry. I guess I just acted in the heat of the moment.”

“Well, we learned how that usually goes,” Kenny said, a condescending look in his eye. “Let’s think our moves _twice,_ from now on.”

He was calling her out on her impulsiveness and she knew it. “Okay,” She said, nodding her head, “You’re right.” She said sincerely, agreeing to his terms, willing to put her best in doing so. “I’ll try.”

Kenny was watching her, “Your _hardest,_ ” He added, watching as Eve nodded.

“My hardest,” She echoed, “I’ll try my hardest.”

Kenny stared at her for a hard second, “Good,” He said, before looking back at the screen.

And then they waited.

And nothing happened.

And Eve couldn’t help herself. “What are we waiting for, here?”

Kenny shrugged, “I don’t know, I was waiting for you to give me a lead on Villanelle.”

“I don’t have one,” She reasoned out loud, frowning. “You mean to tell me you don’t have one, either?”

Kenny shook his head. “No.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“No murders, no corpses, no mysterious deaths, no _nothing?”_ She kept asking him, watching him as he kept shaking his head and mumbling _No,_ before falling back on the chair, mumbling a quiet, “Shit.”

“I thought you had a lead.” Kenny told her, shock evident on his features.

“Clearly, I don’t.” Eve replied, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this. We really don’t know where she might be?” A shake of Kenny’s head. “You really mean there’s no trail of bodies behind her?”

“I haven’t been _too worried_ about keeping a track on Villanelle’s whereabouts, but ever since Rome she’s just disappeared.” He started typing away, the clicking of the keys under his fingers in tune with the characters that appeared on screen and the commands that made this thing or that thing, “She’s been keeping a low enough profile that she’s become invisible.”

“That’s not right.” Eve said, frowning at the screen as Kenny opened window after window, searching for crimes all over the world, anything that might at least whisper _Villanelle,_ but to no avail. “It’s not like Villanelle to keep a low profile, she doesn’t want to be invisible,” Her eyes moved to Kenny’s, still fixed on the screen, as she hunched forwards, resting her elbows on her knees, “There’s no one who wants to be more seen than _her.”_

Then Kenny’s eyebrows rose as he finished Eve’s thought. “Seen by _you.”_

“What?”

He looked at her, eyes big with the realization. “You said so yourself and she’s proved you right time after time: she only wants _you_ to see her. She doesn’t care about anyone else’s attention.”

Eve laid back once more, her eyes on the ceiling as her brain’s cogs started to make move after move, trying to spur the thinking machine into life, ignoring the emotional side of herself that wanted to react to that information in the hopes of letting the rational side finally work—

“How possible is it that she may believe you’re dead?”

“I don’t know, it depends.” Eve replied automatically, “How many people know you got me out of Rome?”

“MI6, me and, apparently, the Twelve. No one else has been informed.”

The image of her husband appeared on her brain and she frowned. “Not even Niko?”

And she was grateful she looked at Kenny in that one instant, for she would have missed the way he gulped, his lips tightened in a firm, straight line, his eyes suddenly focusing hard on the screen.

“Kenny,” Eve called his attention as she leaned forwards again, “Does Niko know?”

He furrowed his brows, “When was the last time you saw him?” He asked her tentatively.

Eve tried not to overthink the reasons why he would be asking her that. “Sometime before Rome, in some teacher’s house. He was staying at her place after an argument we had.”

“ _Some teacher’s house,”_ He repeated, “Do you know her name?”

“Gemma, something like that.”

Kenny looked like he had seen a ghost. “Oh.”

“ _Kenny,”_ She did not like his expression, “ _Where’s Niko?”_

Kenny closed his eyes, “He’s in witness protection.”

“In _what now—”_

“Apparently, Villanelle paid him and Gemma a visit before you two left for Rome,” Kenny informed her, quickly turning to his computer and opening up certain files—

“ _Oh my god,”_ Eve instinctively said at the image of _Gemma,_ her face contorted into what must have been her last, silent scream of despair, as she choked with what she identified as one of Niko’s mother’s settee’s plastic cover around her head, kept in place by some packing tape that read _FRAGILE._

Kenny was subtly looking away, “Yeah, I know,” He replied to her reaction, closing the image and finally looking ahead again, opening another image, this time of Niko, his hands cuffed behind his back. “The police found him next to her body and deduced it had been him, but he used his call at the police station to call MI6 and Jess picked up.” He sighed, “As soon as he said who he was, Jess was on her way to the station and quickly released him, informing the police that it had been an _international assassin_ who did that, in the hopes of provoking you, thus managing to get him into witness protection instead of a jail cell.”

“Pretty much the same story as when she had used my name in Berlin, the whole _provoking the agent._ ” Eve mused out loud, letting the sadness of Niko’s expression on the picture flow through her.

_Empathize._

“Yeah, she somewhat lied because you’ll imagine that we can’t go around saying said assassin was working for the _Secret Intelligence Service_ at the moment this happened.”

Eve laid back on her chair. “What a fucking bitch.”

“I thought you maybe _knew_ about this.”

“What?” Eve looked at him suddenly, bewildered. “Hell, no! I came back to my own house only to find Niko _gone.”_ She pressed her lips on a firm line, “No wonder he wasn’t there, now.”

“Yeah, he told us not to tell you his whereabouts.” Kenny told her, earning an even crazier look, which made him raise his hands in surrender, “Considering Villanelle _did_ confess to him that she was killing Gemma because of your relationship with him, I think it’s rather sensible of him to wish to be away from you. I’d do the same thing.”

Eve was frowning, “She killed Gemma _because_ of Niko and I?” And, despite the situation, as she shook her head, she huffed a laugh. “I can’t…”

Then she trailed off.

Restarted.

“I actually _can_ believe this.” She tried not to laugh. “It sounds like a Villanelle thing to do, to kill Gemma because of Niko and I.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me; if her problem with you is _Niko,_ why kill _her_ and not _him?”_

She ignored that Kenny was, for once, not thinking morally, trying his best to get on the killer’s shoes, even if it was hard as Hell for someone as righteous as him.

And Eve’s eyes were hot on his as she said, “Because she knew I wouldn’t forgive her if she did that. She didn’t want to cross me.”

_We are speaking the same language now, Kenny._

She felt comfortable.

_Careful, it’s addictive._

“And why wouldn’t she want to cross you? What’s her problem with Niko’s relationship with you?” Kenny asked her, making Eve feel like she was in an interrogation room, her wrists caught in cuffs, “Why was she so worried about you, your happiness and comfort, only for her to later shoot you down?” He realized the question he had to ask, then, “What happened between her killing Gemma and her shooting you to make her change so much, like flicking a switch?”

He sighed and laid back on his chair and made the one question Eve would instinctively answer:

“What’s her deal with you?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

Kenny gazed at her from his lazy position. “Anymore, meaning you _knew_ at some point.”

Eve was lost in her own thoughts, gaze unfocused, “At least I thought I did, I’m not perfectly sure,” her brows furrowed, “One just can never be sure with Villanelle.”

“What _was_ her deal with you?”

“She wanted me.”

Kenny rolled his eyes, “We already knew she wanted your attent—“

“ _No,”_ Eve replied, looking at him square in the eye, “She wanted _me,_ Eve Polastri. She wanted _me,_ which explains why she didn’t want to cross me, why she wanted to catch my attention, why she wanted to please me. She wanted me, all for herself.”

Kenny tried his best not to judge, for he knew it wasn’t necessarily one-sided.

Eve could see in his eyes how he tried and failed.

“What could she possibly want from you?”

An unexpected riposte in their little fencing match. “What do you mean?”

“What about you attracted her so much?” Kenny asked, “I mean this in the best of ways, Eve, but there was nothing spectacular about you. You were a nine-to-five employee with a husband who lived in the suburbs and had game nights with friends and double dates, dinners.” Kenny explained, “I can only think of very few examples that would scream _normal_ louder than you and Villanelle has proven time after time that’s she’s after the eccentric, the one beat that the song skips or misses. If you’re a steady, calculated tempo, what made her want to listen?”

She got lost in the trance that Villanelle would always put her in, no matter whether she was present in the room or not.

_What made the one who skips the beats want to listen to the one with the steady tempo?_

She swallowed the lump that had formed around her throat.

She knew the answer.

“The fact that I’m no steady, calculated tempo at all.”

Kenny’s eyes found hers again. “How come?”

“I’m the only agent _in the world_ who managed to piece it all together, see every brushstroke of this insane painting of hers and discover who the artist was. That alone makes me different, makes me _offbeat.”_

Kenny’s head lolled to a side. “And then? What _kept her around?”_

“The fact that I’m not entirely sane in the head, Kenny.” Eve confessed, feeling exposed as her truth was laid bare. “Villanelle makes you feel uncomfortable, intimidated, but that doesn’t exactly happen with me too.” She said, “I remember talking to Martin about this, telling him she made me feel _wide awake.”_

Kenny raised a brow. “So suddenly the man who knew _nothing_ about psychopaths is the man who you go to for advice?”

“I never said he knew nothing.” Eve warned, raising a finger in defiance to his words. “I just said that his presentation was very _misleading.”_ She sighed, rubbing her temples with her thumb and index. “I don’t know what’s up with my brain, Kenny, but I do know that Villanelle thinks or, at least, thought, that she and I were equals.” She looked at Kenny, “I proved her wrong in the end and she shot me.”

He raised his brows almost imperceptibly, nodding his head slowly. “Okay,” He said, trying not to think too much of what Eve had told him about her own mental health, “May I ask what exactly—”

“No,” Eve told him. “Look, I’m trying my best to be honest with you because I owe you _at least_ that, but I can’t tell you everything.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s something the Twelve don’t exactly know how it happened and _that_ information alone is what may keep me and mine alive.” Eve confessed, waiting a second before sighing and, “ _Something bad_ happened in Rome due to Villanelle pulling the strings, the same thing that, in the end, made me turn my back on her, thus her shooting me. The Twelve don’t know exactly how Villanelle took a part in it, but they _do_ know she had a hand on it. They are looking for her due to it, but if they knew the truth—”

“They’d be after you.”

Eve nodded, “They’d be after me. That’s why I can’t tell you, Kenny.” Her hands quickly found his, “I hope you understand.”

Kenny stared at her hands, before nodding, “It’s okay.” He said, despite his curiosity eating his insides. “So, Villanelle was interested in you, which prompted her to look for your attention. Now that she _may_ believe you’re dead…”

“...She doesn’t have anyone she wants to show off for.”

Kenny nodded. “She must feel purposeless.”

“And that will lead to her feeling bored.” Her eyes had a certain intensity, “That’s not a good thing for Villanelle to feel because it leads to—”

“Murders.”

Eve nodded, “Yeah, that.” But then she frowned, “But I think she should have already started with that by now.”

Kenny was frowning, too. “You’re right.”

“She might have tried to move on,” Eve said, standing up and slowly pacing around the room. “Picture it,” She restarts, “She wants me, she shoots me down because I’m not what she expected and then, what? She’s alone again, base one.” She turns to look at Kenny, “She has to go back to the beginning, has to forget, move on and that’s not a thing that she can do easily, so she searches for entertainment.”

“But the entertainment fails,” Kenny reasons, getting up from his seat, too, “She tries to forget you and she can’t,” He’s trying his hardest, “So maybe she had a few crazy moments right after Rome but eventually they come to a stop.”

They stare at each other for a hard second, “We’ve gotta check if there’s been any incidents near the Rome dates.”

They _run_ to Kenny’s computer and the boy types away in the system and—

“Okay, that’s a start,” Eve says as a picture from a woman with _wild black curls,_ appears on screen.

Kenny raises a brow, “How do you know it’s a start?”

She wouldn’t bother in elaborating. “I just have a hunch.”

So they read the headline; _Finnish woman held at gunpoint after crazy encounter with woman at bar._

“Okay, your hunch is right.”

They read about it; Veera, a woman in her forties, informed the local authorities —Finland —about a blonde, russian sounding woman who had invited her over to her hotel room and initiated sexual intercourse with her before pulling a gun and aiming at her, ushering her out of the room.

“ _The authorities warn citizens and tourists alike to beware of a woman who responds to the description and, in case of sighting, to inform the authorities in order to successfully catch her and prevent her from doing any real harm.”_ Eve read out loud. “That’s her, that’s Villanelle,” She said, trying to hide her excitement, though a monstrous anguish at her last encounter with the assassin successfully quieted down her other emotions. “Do you have anything else?”

Kenny searched, but nothing came up. “That’s all we’ve got.”

“Fuck,” Eve mumbled, “She can’t be hiding this properly.”

And the silence that slowly stretched between them didn’t last long as Kenny finally asked, “What about Konstantin?”

Eve looked at him. “What about him?”

“Did she run away with him?”

Eve frowned, “No, we were alone. I guess he left to go back to his family.”

“She would see that as betrayal.”

They stared at each other, the cogs inside their brains running at full speed, going through all the information they had on Konstantin and Villanelle until both of their minds’ came to the same solution—

“ _She’s going after him!”_

Kenny quickly looked for a folder in his hard drive, labelled _K._ Opening it up, file after file filled with information regarding the russian man flooded the screen.

“Where did you get all this?” Eve asked him as she realized it contained very _sensitive_ information regarding the man’s family and whereabouts.

“Mum might think she’s slick with keeping her information safe, but I’m slicker.” He pressed some final buttons, “There,” He said, a small smirk on his lips, “Konstantin and his family are currently located in a small house in Barcelona, Spain.”

“It’s like hiding in plain sight.” Eve mused out loud.

“No wonder where Villanelle gets it from.”

“Okay,” Eve said, standing up once more and going to the other computer, turning it on.

“What are you doing?” Kenny asked her with curiosity.

“I’m going to book us tickets to—”

“Oh, _no.”_ Kenny stopped her, “You’re going to book only _one_ ticket.” At her surprised look, he explained, “I will help you from _here,_ but I’m definitely _not_ getting in the middle of whatever you’re about to walk into.”

Even nodded her head once, imagining that Kenny probably knew what had happened to Hugo when he had gone with her. “Okay, sounds fair.”

“Okay,” Kenny said, nodding his head once, too, “To Barcelona it is, then.”

Eve let out a shuddering breath.

“To Barcelona it is.”

* * *

Finland was boring, anyway.

And he wasn’t there, so why should she stay?

_Come out, coward._

She was going to find him, eventually. She’d make him pay for stabbing her on the back, in a _metaphorical_ way.

_He’s not in the UK, he’s not in the nordic countries…_

That left very few options.

_He wouldn’t be in France; that’s my place._

_He hates Russia, finds Belgium boring and would not have stayed in Italy._

_Portugal?_

She grimaced.

_A last resource._

_Germany?_

Her scowl deepened.

_We’ve been there, already._

It left only one logical option.

_Spain. It’s either Spain or he left the continent._

She smiled.

_Very well._

_Spain._

So, as she walked into the airport and approached the woman that was on the other side of the counter, she mustered up her best spanish accent, rough R’s and hard edges around the vowels, and easily blurted out her request with her most innocent, even lost, expression, tone. “Hello, yes, I just missed my flight back home and I’d like to book another ticket for as soon as possible, today, if that would be okay.”

The woman nodded, “Sure, ma’am, sorry about your missed flight. The next plane to Spain leaves in three hours, lands at El Prat, Barcelona.”

Villanelle smiled brightly, “That’s perfect, thank you.”

And as she finished paying for the ticket, she dropped the smiley act and walked towards migrations.

_To Barcelona it is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, slow. But I like to write a good story and I'm trying my goddamn best here, okay? okay.


	6. I'll Find You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The race for Konstantin's life begins.

“Remind me again, how the Hell did you get this gear?”

“ _I told you, already.”_ Kenny’s voice was strong and clear on her right ear, “ _I’m slicker than Mum even thinks she is.”_

As soon as she had bought the ticket, Kenny had given her an earpiece, much like the one Villanelle had worn when they had been a team, a new, clean phone, only linked to Kenny’s clean one and a few others he had given her in case she ever needed to throw away hers.

So, after receiving her equipment from him, she got in a cab and reached the airport, daring to talk to him only once she had gotten out of the car.

Eve raised her brows as she made her way to her terminal, “You’re a box full of surprises, Kenny.”

“ _I am.”_

A beat. And then—

_“And so are the Twelve.”_

It made Eve’s blood run cold. “What?” She asked with a frown, her pace faltering as she skipped a step.

“ _Two men bought last minute tickets to Barcelona, the next flight there after yours, which is only half an hour later. Running throughout the airport’s security cameras, I just found two men who fit the description you gave me for Jonah and Danny.”_

And in just a split second, that statement alone brought two questions to Eve’s head:

_How do they know I bought a ticket to Barcelona?_

_How do you know they bought two tickets to Barcelona?_

And the answer seemed so stupidly easy, yet so potentially dangerous:

_Aaron Peel’s weapon._

What should she do, in the face of such discovery?

Going against her own gut, Eve did the one thing she had avoided doing in the past and was currently struggling to do in the present.

Be honest. Straightforward.

“How on Earth do they know about this, Kenny?”

“ _Well, I can’t know for sure,”_ Came the cryptic reply, “ _But I’m guessing they’re able to track down your movements, somehow.”_

And that was all Eve needed him to say to confirm her fears, that maybe they took a hold of whatever power Peel was willing to sell.

“You told me these phones and this gear was in the clear.”

“ _It is. I can tell you for sure that they cannot hear this conversation and they cannot look into whatever goes through our phones, let alone my computers. They couldn’t see where the tickets were bought from, but they can, apparently, check the airline’s system and there’s only a few Eve Polastris in the world, I bet.”_

It made Eve bite the inside of her cheek. “I bet.”

Another beat. And then—

“And how can _you_ track _them_ down?”

One, two, three, four, five steps already and he still hasn’t answered, six, seven, it only made it worse, eight—

“ _Mum took it.”_

Zero, as Eve came to a stop in the middle of the airport.

She needed to hear him say it, a complete sentence.

“What did she take?”

She heard a sigh coming from the other side of the comm.

“ _Mum took Aaron Peel’s weapon, the software he was trying to sell. I copied the searching software he developed and learned how to use it and that’s how I managed to track those two down.”_ And before she could ask what concerned her, he replied, like he could also use that information engine to read her mind, “ _I don’t know what Mum wants to do with it, but she certainly hasn’t given it to anyone nor has used it, as of yet.”_

_So both, Carolyn and the Twelve have access to anyone’s information online, apparently._

_And what else have you used it for, Kenny, if you did use it at some other point?_

Questions and guesses she’d never dare speak out loud to him.

“Okay,” She said instead, resuming her walking.

And just like that, having to pretend she didn’t know she was being followed, Eve made it through migrations and, before the wait could kill her, got on her plane.

_Two hours and fifteen minutes of solitude._

She sighed.

_Fucking finally._

* * *

 

Villanelle quickly realized it had been far too long since the last time she had spoken spanish.

She was struggling to nail the accent, the cadence and rhythm of the locals. Still, she called it a challenge and enjoyed the process of, slowly, but surely, falling back in tune with the latin language, like it was all just some game and she was progressively getting better at it.

She smiled victoriously to herself when she managed to perfectly imitate the accent of the spanish family that had been sitting in the row ahead of her on the plane, throwing a dirty look at the man sitting next to her, who watched her mumble quietly to herself with a wild look, like she was insane.

She quietly navigated the spanish airport with ease, though a frown posed itself on her face whenever she had to read a sign, for there was a third language there, besides spanish and english, that she couldn’t exactly recognize.

_Like french, but not, but it also looks like spanish, but it isn’t exactly…?_

She stopped walking at some point and tried to listen around her.

She groaned loudly when she realized they were speaking catalan.

Considering she already knew a few similar languages, she had refused to learn it.

_It’s not even that hard to read._

She narrowed her eyes at the sign as she instinctively looked at the english translation.

“Fuck this,” She growled, “Fuck Barcelona.”

And she realized she may have said it louder than she had intended when a few people around her turned to look at her.

She sneered at them. Not like she could take it back.

_Not like I would, either._

So, angry at the discovery of having forgotten the language of choice in Barcelona and how they would bully her by speaking catalan to her rather than spanish, Villanelle stomped her way around the airport, trying to find her way out, already pissed at Konstantin for choosing such a _shit place_ for hiding.

Because he _was_ there.

_Of fucking course he is._

There simply was no chance of him not being there.

Her furious power walk came to an abrupt stop as she caught a glimpse of a mane of wild hair walk in front of her, though.

Frozen in place, Villanelle blinked once before turning to look at the woman who walked away from her.

She felt as if she had just seen a ghost.

This wasn’t _any woman_ with amazing hair: she walked the same, looked to be around the same height, dressed as horribly…

A laugh bubbled up her throat and escaped her lips, leaving as quickly as it came as Villanelle shook her head.

_Funny, very funny._

She tried to disregard it as her fucked up brain making her see fucked up things.

_Now comes the click, the bang, the thud and I see her bleeding out._

_Fucking stupid._

She kept shaking her head, closing her eyes with as much strength as she could while she resumed her walking in a direction completely opposite to the ghost’s.

She was going to _find_ and _kill_ Konstantin for putting her through this misery.

_Fucking piece of shit._

So the assassin quietly made her way out of the airport, quickly cleansing her mind from the woman she had seen.

It was only then, when she was outside the airport and narrowing her eyes at the way too sunny day, that she realized finding Konstantin would be pretty much impossible without a plan or, ideally, a bit of help.

_Fuck this._

To ignore the problem at hand, Villanelle decided that, if she was about to go kill Konstantin, she’d need a weapon first.

_Obviously._

And something she would always know about the Twelve was that they had weaponries in absolutely every city in the world, for emergency cases, such as hers.

And the nicest —and stupidest —thing about them was that they were mostly unguarded, for guards would bring suspicion into those secret, perfect hiding spots.

It meant she’d only have to find one of the minor spots, where she’d only be able to retrieve a gun or two, instead of going to the big ones with ridiculous amounts of guns and ammo, which actually _did_ have a handler, much to her discontempt.

And she knew _exactly_ where the hiding spot designed for her was.

So, with a smirk on her face, Villanelle began to make her way into the heart of the city.

* * *

 

“You keep getting shadier by the _second,_ Kenny.”

“ _I just know where they keep their guns, Eve. Not very hard to do when you can access the police’s system.”_

 _“Very hard_ to do when you’re making me steal a _policeman’s gun!”_

“ _Oh, shut up. Would you rather face Villanelle unarmed?”_

Eve scowled. “Fine, you’re right.”

And just like that, she watched as Kenny did his magic, all the way from London.

A very loud alarm went off at the station and the former agent watched as _every last policeman_ sprung into action, getting on cars and bikes and riding _somewhere,_ as if there was this big Godzilla-like monster and they were the only ones in all of Spain who could defeat it.

“ _Okay, they’re all out,”_ Kenny’s voice came through the comm, “ _You can go in, now.”_

So, warily, Eve did just that and, indeed, there was no one there.

“ _Walk around the counter and open that door.”_ Kenny started to indicate and she continued to follow. “ _Walk to the end of the hallway and turn left, then right, then left again… There, that’s the one.”_

Eve stared at a movie-like vault door and _laughed. “_ Kenny, you’re not expecting me to open this, right?”

“ _No.”_

And she froze as she heard gears start to move and, seemingly out of nowhere, the vault opened with a faint, almost comical _click._

Eve didn’t speak as she turned to look at one of the security cameras with a wild look on her face.

“ _Get a gun and get out of there.”_

She nodded her head and quickly walked into the vault, not letting the sight of all those firearms freeze her into a quiet paralysis, picking up the first revolver she saw and getting out of there and watching in quiet awe as Kenny made the automatic door close itself again.

_“Okay, the police are going to make their return soon. Get out of there.”_

Eve moved fast towards the main door again, “But won’t they see me in their cameras, Kenny?” She asked out of fear when she realized she had been recorded entering the establishment and leaving it, _weaponized._

She heard Kenny chuckle, “ _Eve, do you think I’m going to make a national emergency alarm go off, open a vault, close it, reorganize their weapon inventory so that they don’t notice a revolver gone missing, but forget to erase their camera footage? Do you take me for an amateur at this?”_

Eve rolled her eyes as she was already out, the gun hidden underneath her clothing, “Okay, _Carolyn,_ sorry for looking out for my own ass.”

And she couldn’t help the laugh that came up when she heard Kenny’s voice do a quirky thing as he impersonated his own mother, saying, “ _Apology accepted, Eve, but try and be less naive from now on.”_

“Wow, _boss.”_

“ _Sorry, I didn’t mean to be as jerky as her,”_ Kenny honestly said, “ _I just felt a bit insulted at what you were implicating there.”_

Eve nodded her head. “It’s okay.” She smoothed out her clothing, hiding her gun better, “Now, what?”

“ _Now, we go to Konstantin’s safe house.”_

Eve snorted. “Lead the way, captain.”

_We._

* * *

 

Villanelle wanted to laugh at how easy it was.

Her little gun stash was located outside of a supermarket that _used to be_ a very catalonian place, with people speaking that awful hybrid of a language to each other and ignoring those who spoke a proper tongue.

But when she walked towards said store, this time, she caught sight of its’ sign, a completely new thing which read _Russian Goods And Delicatessen,_ written in her mother tongue, of course.

 _New owners,_ she smiled.

And as she walked to its’ back and gleefully found her guns, taking only one with her because where would she hide _two,_ she caught a glimpse of a very familiar face.

She smiled as she watched _Konstantin,_ unmistakable, impossible not to recognize him, leave the supermarket, feeling like a four leaf clover, for her biggest problem had just been miraculously solved.

Keeping a _very_ big distance so as not be discovered, she followed him back home, losing sight of him for a few minutes at times, only to find him again rather easily.

She followed him turn after turn and stopped a block away as she saw him enter a building.

_His home._

She didn’t wait as she quickly made her way to the main door and rang the doorbell, a big smile on her face as she waited for Konstantin to reappear and welcome her in.

But no one came.

The shadow of a doubt started to creep over her, but she paid it no mind.

She rang the bell again.

Minutes passed.

Nothing.

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it, before bring her foot up and slamming it against the door, repeating the action over and over again until the lock finally subsided, the obstacle moving to a side as she was let in by her own hand.

She pulled the gun out and walked around the house.

Empty.

_No._

She moved towards the kitchen and saw a bag, still stuffed with items.

She approached it and inspected its’ contents: Moskovskaya Osobaya vodka, half a dozen of eggs, bread, beef cut in cubes, onions, garlic, carrots, potatoes…

_His obsession with eggs, his favorite vodka, ingredients to prepare Zharkoye._

...A very Konstantin list of things to buy in a supermarket.

She knew she had made no mistake: she had, indeed, seen Konstantin and she had, indeed, followed him home.

There was simply _no possibility_ for error.

She continued walking around the house.

“ _Konstantin!”_ She said out loud in a sing-song voice, “ _Come out! I’m home!”_

But no one answered.

And Villanelle didn’t want to admit it, yet, but no one answered because no one was home.

It was only her.

_No._

She scowled as she kept walking around the house, finding every room empty—

Her eyes fell on a closed door.

_The bedroom._

She kicked the door down and entered.

There was no one there.

She wanted to scream—

She heard a noise, a cell phone’s notification ringtone, and her eyes immediately found a black phone that rested on top of the bed.

She grabbed it and inspected the screen.

She felt her blood run cold as she re-read it, over and over again.

_You’re fucking kidding me._

There was only one message, from a contact saved as _Kill Commander;_

_Sorry, baby. x._

She wanted to throw the phone against the wall, shoot it, destroy it.

She wanted to scream, to rip her hair, to punch Konstantin’s face and murder him with her bare hands so it felt personal.

She sat down on the bed.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to laugh.

She wouldn’t tolerate it.

Finding a certain resolve, she grabbed that phone and unlocked it, not letting herself be surprised at the fact that it had no password.

She called the _Kill Commander._

She heard it ring for a while and then, when someone picked up, not daring to even _breathe_ on the microphone, Villanelle _snapped._

“Konstantin, you piece of shit,” She laughed. “This is not funny,” She said, despite herself. “When I find you, I’m going to kill _you,_ your _wife, Irina,_ and _whoever else_ I have to kill until I feel you’ve repaid me for this.”

And she was met with silence.

She was _fuming,_ “And you dare not answer, you fucking—”

_“This is not Konstantin.”_

That voice made her swallow her words, a gasp escaping her lips, loud enough for the ghost on the other side to hear it.

Villanelle shook her head. “No. You’re trying to fuck with me.”

“ _Villanelle—”_

"Where the fuck are you, Konstantin?"

" _I'm not—"_

“She’s _dead!”_ She screamed at the phone with all the air in her lungs. “She’s _fucking dead, you piece of shit!”_ She was standing, “ _I killed her! I fucking shot her and now she’s dead!”_

And she refused to acknowledge the tears on her eyes.

And silence reigned again, until—

“ _If she’s dead then who’s talking to you?”_

Villanelle shook her head, feeling as if she were going insane, “Konstantin, you fucking asshole, Eve Polastri is—”

“ _Alive.”_ A pause, then, _“And speaking.”_

“Bullshit.”

A chuckle on the other side of the line, “ _Excuse me?”_

 _“_ I said _bullshit, Eve.”_ Villanelle said, sneering at nothing.

“ _Care to find out?”_

She didn’t know if she wanted to.

“How am I supposed to do that?” She asked, nevertheless.

“ _Keep this phone, do your thing, have fun.”_ It seemed Eve’s ghost was _taunting_ her. “ _If you keep it, I’ll find you.”_

And before Villanelle could reply, the ghost on the other side hung up.

She remained still, with the phone pressed against her ear, for minute after minute before she finally managed to stand up and, putting the phone in her pocket, walked out and away.

* * *

 

Days had passed.

Eve Polastri had not appeared.

Villanelle knew from minute one that she was full of shit, that it was actually Konstantin, altering his voice somehow, to sound like her Eve—

She killed that thought by downing what remained from her drink, still walking to her hotel room with a brunette clinging to her arm, ready to be fucked senseless by her.

She was ready to forget about it all, to try again, to come back to her room from a dance club with some pretty girl and use her until she was satisfied.

So she walked and carried the girl with her, who spoke nonsense to her about how _pretty_ she was and how she had _never done_ anything like _that_ before, the assassin ignoring her completely as they reached the hotel and made it upstairs, the Spanish girl kissing her sloppily and releasing her only to let her open the door to her room and—

And Villanelle instinctively placed her hand on the Spanish girl’s mouth to keep her quiet, pulled out her gun and aimed it at Eve, who was idly sitting on her bed, her own revolver aimed at the blonde.


	7. Keep Your Eyes On The Prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months apart, Eve and Villanelle have a first, ephemeral encounter.

She felt like her heart was a wild animal, raging at the bars of its’ cage, trying to escape through her ribs, the imprisonment imposed by her chest.

It felt more _accurate_ than saying her heart was about to explode, because it wasn’t nearing death.

It had actually been some time since it’s felt _that_ alive.

_Eve._

_Eve Polastri._

_Eve Polastri, sitting on my bed._

_Eve Polastri, sitting on my bed, aiming a gun at my face._

And the thought didn’t bother her at all.

Dare she say, it was the one thing that, rather than turn her heart into a bomb, turned it into a feral beast.

It was wrong.

She should be pissed.

She shouldn’t be _excited._

_Yet it’s not exactly the case._

She ignored the panicked mumbling she could _feel_ against the palm of her hand as she kept staring at the asian woman, trying to come up with something to say, but only managing to scoff and say, “That’s rude.”

Eve narrowed her eyes, “A déjà vu of sorts, don’t you think?”

Villanelle shook her head, “ _Déjà vécu,_ Eve.” She corrected her, before she smirked, “And it’s not _one,_ it’s like _three_ different memories, all at once _.”_ She quietly moved into the room, dragging the other girl with her, closing the door with her foot behind her. “First, when we were in this same position, with Konstantin and Irina.” She moved her head around a bit, easing the tension on her neck. “Second, when I told you _it was rude_ to put a knife against my body, before you stabbed me.” She disengaged her gun’s safety, “And lastly, when I aimed at you with a gun a bit smaller than this one and shot you.”

“In the back.” Eve added for her, nodding her head while she did so, disengaging her own gun’s safety. “You shot me in the back.”

Villanelle’s smile was sweet as she agreed, “I did. You told me I couldn’t.”

“And that was _my_ mistake.”

The blonde nodded, “It was.”

Eve remained still, silent, her eyes going from the assassin to the brunette she was holding, her whole demeanor screaming at Villanelle _we can’t do this if she’s here._

So, getting message, Villanelle, did what she had to.

“A moment, please.” She said in a very gentle tone, before engaging the gun’s safety again and placing it on the waistband of her pants, getting a switchblade out of her pocket and in one fluid yet slow motion—

Eve flinched and looked away instinctively as Villanelle unexpectedly slit the girl’s throat, letting her body hit the ground with one quiet _thump._

“There, problem solved.” Villanelle said, looking at Eve with a proud expression on her face.

“You really did _not_ have to do that.” Eve said in a scolding tone, recomposing herself, her eyes moving towards the fresh, still warm body on the ground and narrowing in a scowl before moving towards Villanelle, looking at her like she was a child who had just made a mess.

“If I had released her and let her go, she would have, most definitely, alerted the police or, at least, the people at reception.” Villanelle explained with a bored expression. “I did what was best. Besides,” She looked at the girl with an annoyed look, “She was insufferable.”

“If she was insufferable, then why did you bring her here?” She heard Eve ask her, the black haired woman shifting a bit on her seat.

“Because she might be insufferable, but she still had a nice body.” Villanelle replied, nodding her head wistfully as she gave the Spanish girl one last, long look. Then, as her eyes moved to relocate on Eve, “Now—”

She stopped herself when she saw Eve, still aiming at her, silently holding an open notebook with her other hand, a page with some writing on it being displayed for her to read.

_GOT A MIC ON._

Villanelle knew exactly what she had to do, as her eyes refocused on Eve’s, a look of arrogance on her face. “Take it off.”

Eve played along, “Take what—”

“Take it _off!”_ Villanelle raised her voice, “Take the microphone, the earpiece, whatever, _take it off!”_

“Villanelle—”

“I’m not _stupid,_ Eve.” She said and _God,_ how _good_ it felt, to say her name again with such force. In a quick move, she grabbed her gun again and aimed at Eve, safety gone in a _click,_ “Take it off or I’ll blow it right off of you with a bullet, ear coming off, too.”

So Eve sighed and turned away for a second, taking the earpiece off and pressing hard on it for a few seconds, smirking at it as it turned off.

She turned to look at Villanelle again—

She took a sharp breath when she came face to face with the blonde, crouching in front of her so as to be at eye level, her gun a hair’s breadth away from her pulsepoint.

“Don’t lose sight of the threat, Eve.”

Eve’s eyes closed at the soft, low sound of Villanelle’s voice. “I know, _keep your eyes on the prize,_ all that stuff _.”_

She heard her chuckle, “Am I the prize, now?”

“Have you ever been something else?” She opened her eyes and stared into Villanelle’s hazel ones. “A luxury only a few can afford—”

“A luxury _no one_ can afford. Not anymore.” Villanelle cut her off, “Not even you, now.”

Eve raised a brow, the heat of their conversation making her forget about the gun that lingered underneath her chin. “ _Not even me?”_

Villanelle shook her head. “You never paid me for my services, _baby_.”

“Oh, but I did, _baby.”_ Eve replied, pointedly ignoring the way Villanelle’s eyes widened millimetrically at the precious nickname being shot right back instead of greedily kept away.

She couldn’t ignore how those cold eyes weren’t that cold anymore, though. “How so—”

“You destroyed my whole _life,”_ It was Eve’s turn to cut her off, the woman not controlling her own body as she stood up and walked towards Villanelle, forcing the blonde to walk backwards until she hit the door, trapped against it. “You took my life in your hands and burned it to the ground.” She was baring her teeth, “I lost my job, I lost my husband, I lost my friends, I lost _everything_ and I almost lose my literal life to pay the prize of being obsessed with you, because _that’s_ what’s going on with me.” She was breathing heavily, product of the anger she let out through her words, “I _can’t_ let go of you, the thought of you, the idea of you, _you,_ and it drives me _insane.”_ And her voice dropped an octave as she added, “So don’t you dare say I haven’t paid for your services, because you had asked for everything and I gave you exactly that: _everything.”_

And Villanelle couldn’t stop her own mouth from blurting out, “No, you didn’t.”

Eve frowned, looking ready to say something else, before she cut herself off with a shake of her head, “I don’t have time for this,” She said, quickly pushing Villanelle aside and opening the door—

Freezing when she felt the end of the gun being pressed against the back of her head.

“Who said you could leave?” Villanelle let out in a poisonous tone, her voice very near to her ear. “We’re not done here.”

Villanelle lacked as much closure as she did, she realized.

Eve inhaled deeply and, nodding just once as she let it out, she turned to look at Villanelle. “You want to shoot me?” She asked her, “Go ahead,” She challenged. “Shoot me and go to sleep with _two_ bodies on the floor of your room, wondering how and why I even bothered to find your _sorry ass, Oksana.”_

Villanelle’s eyes were those of a predator when she pressed herself even closer to Eve, “ _Don’t call me that.”_

And Eve wanted to backtrack, wanted to give in to her fear, to give in to _Villanelle,_ for she saw the very real threat in her eyes.

She lied her way through confidence, though.

“You’re not getting the memo here, Villanelle.” Eve said instead of backing off, a venomous smile on her face. “If we’re going to play this game, then I do _whatever the fuck I please,_ just like you do. You don’t like it?” She clicked her tongue, “Then let’s stop playing and see how the gamerules change in favor of _both_ of us.”

But Villanelle seemed more inclined to shoot her in the face.

“...Or kill me now and wonder why I found you in the first place, but whatever you do,” She checked the time on her phone, “Do it quickly because we don’t have all day.”

That didn’t sound right. “What do you mean?”

And Eve saw her chance, “Put the gun down and I’ll tell you.”

So the former agent watched as the assassin reluctantly followed her command, putting the gun on the bed, her eyes never leaving Eve’s, before coming back to her, as close as she had been before, not missing how Eve let out a small breath of relief.

Eve smiled, “That’s better, isn’t it?”

But Villanelle wanted to strangle her, so no smile came from her side. “What did you mean?”

“Keep the phone I gave you,” Eve told her, “That way, I will be able to locate you and you will be able to locate me. We will communicate through them—”

“So that your little friend who spoke to you through that earpiece can spy on our _intimate, late-at-night talking?”_ Villanelle teased, before laughing and shaking her head, “I don’t think so.”

“No one can see what’s in these phones, Villanelle,” Eve assured her. “And I believe you don’t want me to simply disappear—”

“I do.” Villanelle cut her off, again, fury coating her words. “I told you, already, Eve.” She said, a smirk void of any kind of joy on her face. “You’re not special, even if you think you are.”

Eve didn’t quite buy it. “Then why don’t you kill me now and get this over with?”

And Villanelle was only a whisper away when she said, “Because you haven’t told me where you’re hiding Konstantin, yet.”

It was like a stab to the gut, Eve decided.

But she knew very well that it was not the truth.

She had learned how to read Villanelle, somehow.

“Very well,” She said, nonetheless, nodding her head. “If that’s what will keep me alive for now, then so be it.”

“Does he have a silly phone of these, too?”

“No,” Eve contested, “I wouldn’t be as stupid as to give you a way to track him down.”

The assassin smiled, “Clever.”

“Keep the phone, I’ll contact you when it’s safe for us to meet again.” Eve finished their talk, turning to leave, before looking at Villanelle over her shoulder, “By the way, the Twelve are after you and they’re tracking me to find you.” She ignored the wide eyed expression the assassin regarded her with, “Judging by my calculations, they’re half an hour behind me and we just wasted between fifteen and twenty minutes. Good luck using your remaining ten to run.”

And just like that, Eve left Villanelle alone.

The clock kept ticking, though.

And she only had ten minutes to run.

She saw the time change.

_Nine minutes._

And there was a flurry of things going on inside of her, but she was certain of one thing.

After quite some time, she finally felt _wide awake._

Alive again.

Angry.

A wild smile on.

_How I missed you._

Whether she was talking to herself or to the image of Eve in her own head, she wouldn’t dare say.

So Villanelle grabbed what was essential and ran out of the hotel, leaving a dead body behind.

* * *

 

“ _What happened, Eve?!”_

“Relax, Kenny,” Eve responded, “Everything went just fine.” She tried to calm her beating heart.

_“Did you tell her where we hid Konstantin and his family?”_

“No,” Eve quickly shot back. “Look, it was okay. I didn’t tell her anything she didn’t _need_ to know.”

“ _Okay, okay,”_ Kenny sounded relieved, despite the clearly-there curiosity as to what happened in that room and how did Eve get out of unharmed. “ _So, considering the Twelve have been tracking you, they’ll find her in a matter of minutes, now.”_

Eve could hear the contempt in his voice.

And of course she could. To Kenny, the mission was simple: find Villanelle, guide the Twelve to her, problem solved, everyone’s safe and sound except for one Russian assassin.

To Eve, though, it wasn’t that simple.

She didn’t want to give her away to the Twelve. She had unresolved matters with her.

Once that was taken care of, she would decide whether Villanelle deserved to get the Twelve’s treatment or not.

For a moment, during their search, she had forgotten Kenny wasn’t _exactly, perfectly_ aware of the plan.

His voice brought her back to reality, though, as he added “... _Or did they tell you that you should inform them of her whereabouts?”_

She blinked hard, “No, no.” She shook her head if he could see her. “They didn’t give me any way to contact them, so I’m guessing they’d just follow me towards her.”

“ _Oh, I see.”_ Kenny replied. “ _Okay, so, problem solved!”_

“Yeah,” Eve managed to sound _a bit_ contempt herself, “Problem solved.”

“ _Will you handle the whole buying a ticket back home and stuff?”_

 _“_ Yeah, I will,” Eve said, “I’ll just make sure Konstantin is safe from the Twelve before I leave, though.”

It sounded logical. “ _Okay, sounds good.”_

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take off the earpiece. I’m tired of people looking at me like I’m crazy, talking alone and stuff. I’ll text you if need be.”

She heard Kenny laugh. “ _Okay. See you around, Eve.”_

“See you around, Kenny.”

And she took the earpiece out of her ear, turning it off.

_Free from him._

But she still had a lot to do.

So she took out her phone and called the one she had left with Konstantin, unlike what she had told Villanelle.

“I will only ask one favor of you,” She said against the phone as soon as he picked up and before he could even say anything, “I need you to find someone who’s willing to fly to London under my name.” And, as she heard him start to complain, “Do not forget that I could _always_ just _send_ your address to _Villanelle_. Get me that woman and send her my way.”

She hung up before having an answer, but she knew Konstantin would give her what she needed.

_Now, I gotta get that goddamn plane ticket._

* * *

 

Kenny couldn’t help but be just a little bit worried.

He had seen Eve’s ticket purchase online and knew she had arrived at the airport, already boarded on her plane after having waited at her terminal, the usual procedure, nothing worrying at all.

What worried him was having seen two other ticket purchases done by the time she was waiting to take off, followed by two very pissed off men, _Danny and Jonah,_ walking into the airport, tickets to go back to London in hand, caught by the airport’s cameras.

_The plane after hers._

And she had taken off her earpiece.

She didn’t have reception on the plane, either; he couldn’t just text her.

So Kenny realized he couldn’t do nothing but hope she’d be quick enough to get out of Heathrow and to him, so they could start to plan yet again.

* * *

 

There was something about being four hours and a half inside of a train from Barcelona to Toulouse that made the whole wait not bother her that much.

She snorted.

_Yes, the fact that it was either this or five hours and a half inside a bus that probably smells of piss._

But Eve hadn’t given her a choice. Instead, Eve had bought a ticket to Toulouse for her and, along with a digital copy for the blonde to use, she had instructed to find her there, her location permanently shared with Villanelle’s phone on real time.

So the assassin was sitting by a window, staring at the landscape as it rapidly changed.

Trying to feel anything but helpless.

Failing miserably in the process.

She groaned and let her forehead stick to the glass.

Once the adrenaline high of having had a gun aimed at her face was gone, her brain could process the newfound information under a different lighting.

Eve was _alive._

It didn’t mean Eve was some sort of super human that could trick death and remain alive, unfortunately.

It meant Eve was _wrong,_ as it usually happens when people tell Villanelle what she can and cannot do.

It meant Villanelle had not shot to kill, not because she wanted to play nice with Eve, but simply because she _couldn’t do_ more than that.

It meant Villanelle couldn’t find it in her to kill Eve—

_Bullshit._

She was _glaring_ at nothing in particular.

 _I can and I_ will _._

She had felt the electricity that was usual to them when she saw the former agent on her bed, pointing that gun at her as if it were their normal protocol, she couldn’t deny that, but she was still furious at her for doing the one thing she had commanded her _not_ to do.

_Break my heart._

Turning her back on her had been like a stab in the heart for the blonde.

She had let go of _everything_ to be able to hold Eve and all the other woman did was let go of her hand, leave her _alone,_ all because Villanelle was the only one brave enough to show her who she _really_ was, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her to see her reflection in the mirror.

And only God knew how much Villanelle hated the solitude, the loneliness.

_The quietness._

It didn’t mean boredom anymore, but introspection.

If there was something Villanelle did _not_ want to do, especially not on her own, was to look inside her own mind.

So she wasn’t _angry_ at Eve, for she knew anger well enough to tell this was far, _far_ worse, bigger, stronger, and she didn’t have a name, not in any of the languages she knew, for the emotion the other woman made her feel.

She made her feel restless, useless, helpless, pissed off and awfully, devastatingly _heartbroken_.

She couldn’t ignore it anymore: that curious lump in her throat was a byproduct of what Eve meant to her.

_Traitor._

Of what Eve had done to her.

_Break me._

Because Eve had, indeed, broken her.

She couldn’t sleep with anyone, couldn’t sleep _on her own_ without the woman invading her thoughts, without her mind conjuring up every time they were so deliciously close but neither gave in and the one time that, in the distance, she had given herself to the former agent, unknowing whether Eve had been actually listening or not.

She couldn’t kill without seeing the blood dripping from that axe, couldn’t kill without her eyes wandering to her victim’s shoulder first, see if Eve had gotten to them, too, see if there was a mark, something that she’d leave behind on those she had touched.

She had left one on Villanelle, for sure. The pinkish line was still there and wouldn’t leave.

At first, she had loved that idea. She was _Eve’s_ and that was the proof.

She felt repulsed by it, now.

_So why do I feel this way?_

Why did she feel that curious thing in the pit of her stomach, moving at the thought of Eve?

Her scowl deepened. She wanted to enter her own body and _kill_ that creature, make it stop pretending Eve’s return meant anything.

She wanted to be _angry,_ for she knew anger very well.

So it pained her, all the signs she could see and feel, of her anger making room for something else to bloom again.

Obsession. Attraction.

_Desire._

She groaned again.

_Bullshit._

She wanted to shoot Eve and make sure she stayed dead, for maybe that would make her go back to who she used to be: unreachable, untouchable, unaccessible.

 _Unhurtable_.

Her emotions were such a mess, all over the place when they usually weren’t there at all. It made her miss the times when they weren’t there, because Villanelle would rather not feel at all than feel all the misery that Eve drowned her in.

Because those who say they’d rather feel pain than nothing at all are _wrong,_ she realized.

They don’t know _true_ pain.

_They don’t know despair, the desolation._

Desolation at thinking that maybe she had actually killed—

_She makes me feel like I’m not in control._

And it made perfect sense in her head, as if she had been looking for that sentence and she finally found it.

_Like a dog on a leash, following an abusive owner._

Malnourished. Hungry. Thirsty.

_Feral. Rabid._

_An animal._

It gave her a certain resolve that she didn’t know if it was strong enough to survive under Eve’s thumb, but it was enough for her to hold on to, at least for a while.

_If you want an animal, you’ll get an animal._

She’d let her answer a few questions, let her give her a few answers, before shooting her down and seeing her bleed out.

Sighing, Villanelle laid back on her seat and smiled at the frenetic landscape.

She would get whatever her soul needed from Eve and then she’d dispose of her.

_And then I won’t miss you anymore._

Nevermind the voice inside her head that told her such a plan would never work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is moving slow, I know. Apologies. On my behalf, the show is even worse than I am, so I'm allowed to be a little shit.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	8. I Don't Fail Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle finds Eve in Toulouse.

It was pretty much a miracle that she managed to wake up as the train neared her destination.

Quickly gathering all of her things, Villanelle got up and walked out of it before it continued its’ trip, hers being almost done.

_Almost._

She took her phone out of her pocket and opened the tracker app.

_Now, the final stretch._

Eve wasn’t that far from her.

_Good._

She didn’t have much luggage and she was carrying not one but _two_ guns, so she realized she was better off walking, if only not to risk a chance encounter with some officer, inspector, whatever.

She would _not_ admit it was only to make the wait until she met Eve again longer, for that would mean admitting to her nervousness about it all, too, and that was something she was not ready to do, either.

It would mean admitting to the fact that she cared in a way she did not want to acknowledge, all the resolve she had formed in the train with the sole purpose of killing Eve going down the drain.

_And I can’t afford to lose the resolve._

Because it would mean losing her own game to someone she had taught the game to and she was _too_ proud for that.

Nevermind that she feared what losing that resolve meant, what would happen if she lost it and Eve didn’t comply and give in to her own desires, too.

_Empty handed, no thank you._

_Nevermind, nevermind, nevermind._

So, not minding it at all, she walked to Eve’s location, only a few streets away from her.

Her mind a noisy nothingness, Villanelle followed Eve’s simple instructions: once she made it to the hotel the other woman was staying at, she didn’t make eye contact with the receptionist as she made her way to the elevator and pressed the button that would take her to the third floor.

Once she hit the hallway, Villanelle silently walked towards the third door on her right.

Just as told to her by Eve, the door was left slightly ajar.

Her instincts being far stronger than herself, She didn’t even touch the door as she took a peek in, one of her guns already at hand.

The room wasn’t too fancy, but not too bad, either; a modern look to it, with a painting or two hanging from the walls, a king sized bed with a big window behind it, its’ curtains closed, two bedside tables, one of them with its’ lamp’s light on and an unsuspecting Eve sitting on the bed near the light source, her back to the door.

Villanelle didn’t snort, but she did want to. It was almost as if Eve was _asking_ to be attacked.

She quietly watched her instead of taking aim, though.

Her hair was up, which was a small disappointment for the blonde, though she could freely admit there was a certain beauty to the messy look the agent seemed to prefer at any given time.

Between her hands, on her lap, a folder.

She narrowed her eyes as she watched Eve lick one of her fingers before changing the page.

She could tell there were pictures on whatever she was looking at, but couldn’t see more than that, couldn’t decipher what the images Eve was looking at were.

Her eyes moved towards the dark haired woman’s neck as the hand that had just changed the page slowly crept up on it, fingers lazily tangling themselves on dark locks of hair, releasing those near her nape from her half-attempted ponytail.

She had to give it to Eve: her hair was enticingly beautiful.

She still wanted to run her fingers through it.

She refused to acknowledge she wanted to do more sinful things, too.

She wasn’t brave enough to recognize those thoughts again.

That was a door Eve closed the day she turned her back on her or, at least, that’s what she kept telling herself: if _Eve_ had the key, then she couldn’t do anything about it, nothing but be bitter and ignore it, kill the problem and move on.

But now, if Eve _dared_ use the key…

Instead of thinking, Villanelle entered the room without the other woman noticing, closing the door behind her with technically no sound.

It was ridiculous, how lost in whatever she was reading Eve was.

_I could have killed you seventeen times, already._

Villanelle aimed her gun at the woman.

She thought about pulling the trigger with no previous warning, her pulse steady and her hand unwavering as she had a clear shot of Eve’s head.

She cleared her throat, instead.

Eve turned in a fraction of a second, her eyes widening and quickly steadying themselves on Villanelle as fear, surprise, _excitement_ even passed through her pupils.

“You should lock your door,” Villanelle said, a smile on her face, “You never know who could sneak up on you.”

“I was actually hoping someone would sneak up on me,” Eve responded, closing the folder on her legs, eyes never leaving Villanelle’s, “You, to be exact.”

Villanelle laughed, “Why would you want that?”

And, despite the situation she was in, Eve laughed, too, although nervously. “I’m not really sure, if I’m honest.”

Villanelle’s eyes were hot on the Asian woman’s, “What’s the light reading you have there?”

Eve looked at the folder she was holding and placed it in front of Villanelle, over the bed, for her to see. “Stuff.”

That wasn’t very informative. “Of what—”

“Your work.” Eve shook her head a bit, “My work,” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “My work regarding _your_ work, I guess.” She looked at the incriminating folder, laying on top of her bed. “I was simply looking through it a bit, since I just added your latest _handiwork_.”

Without her aim faltering nor moving from her objective, Villanelle moved towards the folder and opened it to a random page.

“Greg Richardson,” Villanelle mumbled, looking at how Eve had written _love in an elevator_ before smirking, “I knew you’d figure out it had been me.” She flipped the page then, snorting when she saw Gemma on it, but frowning at Eve’s faulty work. “You missed Markus and the LIIRGE license plate idiot, though.”

Eve frowned, “... _Markus?”_

Villanelle’s eyes moved back to hers, “Amsterdam. I killed Markus much like the postcard I sent you which, by the way, it was rude of you to never answer—”

“Which postcard?”

Villanelle’s angry expression faltered when she realized Eve’s look of confusion seemed to be very real. “The postcard. _Jan de Baen, The Corpses Of The De Witt Brothers,”_ Her eyes scanned Eve’s face, “ _Darling Eve, I hope you haven’t forgotten about me,_ the murder in Amsterdam, in the red light district,” Her brows rose slightly as she realized there was no hint of recognition on Eve’s face, “No?”

Eve shook her head, “I never got that postcard, Villanelle.” She rose a brow, “Do you think I would have been able to ignore it if I had received it?”

She didn’t know whether to be amused or furious at the fact that Eve seemed not to be bothered by the gun aimed at her face. “I wouldn’t know, I was told you were _too busy_ investigating The Ghost instead.”

She didn’t mean to sound _that_ hurt by it.

She gulped her own saliva, knowing she had given the agent a clue to hang on to.

She knew her well enough to know she had caught it.

“Maybe there’s a lot of things to address—”

“Why did you lead me here, Eve?” Villanelle asked instead, not being able to hold it in anymore. “What do you want with me?”

And it was Eve’s turn to look lost. “Do you want me to be brutally honest with you?” She looked at Villanelle long enough to see the blonde nod her head, before the mess she was in got to her and made a laugh bubble its’ way up her throat, “I have no fucking clue.” She laughed, “I don’t know, I’m guessing I’m following my gut here but I can’t really tell what I want with you, because there’s such a flurry of things—”

She heard the metallic _click_ of the gun, getting ready to shoot.

“That’s too sad,” Villanelle said, “Because I don’t fail twice, you know?”

Curiously enough, despite the evident threat, it was the first time Eve doubted Villanelle in matters of life and death and just how willing she was to pull the trigger. “That’s a thing, too.” Her eyes were glued to the other woman’s hazel ones, “You don’t fail, _period.”_

It was barely there, the hint of a shadow, but Eve _saw_ it flash past Villanelle’s poker face, the anguish of having been caught lying. “What?”

“You don’t fail, Villanelle.” Eve said, again, more firmly, standing up, “You don’t fail and yet you did in Italy.”

Villanelle stomped her way towards Eve pushing her against the wall and, with a sneer on her face, she placed her gun against the other woman’s forehead, before a smile took over, “You’re right, I don’t fail.” She shook her head, “Not unless done on purpose.”

“And _why_ did you fail with me, Villanelle?”

She tried to come up with an excuse.

“Because I cannot kill you until you tell me _where the fuck Konstantin is.”_

It was a lame one and she knew it.

Again, despite the gun on her face, the safety long disengaged, Eve smirked at Villanelle, “Go ahead and shoot me then.” She said, watching Villanelle as she watched her back, “Since I was able to find Konstantin without MI6’s help, he figured he’d be better off hiding on his own, with no one to help him.”

She couldn’t take that answer. “ _Where is Konstantin?”_

The woman shrugged, “For all I know, he could be anywhere. I’d bet South America or Australia, considering it’s further away from here, but Hell if I know so, since I’m apparently not valuable at all for you now, go ahead and _shoot me,_ Villanelle.” Eve challenged, “And let me die without ever even bothering to listen to me, first.”

She felt like she was about to lose what remained of her sanity.

Still, she tried to prove that it was _Eve_ the one who was insane, between the two of them.

“You just said you have no clue why you’re here, why you brought me to you. What is there for me to listen to?”

Eve nodded, “I know. In a way, I still don’t know what I’m doing here, but I cannot let it rest.”

Villanelle opened her mouth to speak—

“The fact that you _did_ follow me here, the fact that what you said before shooting me in Italy still echoes in my head, the fact that you burned my life down and I don’t mind at all.” She chuckled, “The fact that I told you that you don’t know what love is, even if Konstantin warned me that you’d _love me to death_ like you did to Anna, to Nadia, to _him,_ yet I haven’t seen what he means.” She shook her head, “I haven’t seen that heartless Villanelle who just consumes everyone around her until there’s nothing left to feast upon, throwing what remains to the trash can.”

“ _You haven’t seen it?”_ Villanelle repeated, a mirthless laugh escaping her lips. “Anna and Nadia are dead and I’m trying my best to kill Konstantin. How is it that you don’t see it, Eve? And you were right.” She smiled, a cruel thing on her face. “I don’t really know what _love_ is.”

Nevermind that it was her desperate attempt to make the woman take it back, not use that key she knew she possessed on the door she had slammed shut on her face.

Villanelle was afraid of losing her own game.

A small part of her, the one not so proud, wanted to give in to Eve, though.

“You didn’t shoot Anna, Anna shot herself,” Eve retorted. “And you failed the first time you tried to kill Nadia, something you tried to do only because she got on your way, but you didn’t go _out_ of _yours_ to kill her.”

“I got myself in jail—”

“ _The Twelve_ got you in jail to kill her. Like I said, you did what you had to.” Eve cut her off, “Then Konstantin…” She sighed, “He was another target and you _failed._ You only want to kill him again because he betrayed you, leaving you on your own.” Her head lolled to a side, “He told me you’d pretty much carve your name into my heart and, once the magic was gone, you’d dispose of me. That you’d love me to _death_ but have you _ever_ loved someone to death?”

Villanelle was quiet, but Eve could see in the way her lip twitched that she had struck a nerve.

Her pride taking the punches, maybe that other side of her wasn’t as small as a few moments ago.

She continued, “I couldn’t —I _can’t_ sleep at night because I feel like whatever I had going on with you is not finished yet.” Her dark eyes were shining with something the killer refused to acknowledge, “I have no clue what you’ve been up to all this time, but I can tell you something: you’ve been on my mind during the time I was in a coma.” She nodded her head at Villanelle’s wide eyed expression, “Yeah, I was in a coma, I know.” Then continued, “All the time I spent under, you were there, talking to me, dressed in that gorgeous suit you wore in Berlin—”

“ _Dries Van Noten_.” Villanelle absentmindedly noted.

Eve didn’t care much for the designer. “Yeah, whoever. The point is that I am not able to let go of you, Villanelle.” The woman simply stated. “Because I came back to my house to find Niko gone because _you_ killed Gemma and, honestly? I applaud you: I don’t give a shit.” She repeated her new catchphrase. “I came back home and reflected about Raymond’s murder and, honestly? I applaud _myself:_ I don’t give a shit.” She confessed, “I realize I’ve contradicted myself that day in the ruins. I told you that you and I weren’t the same and then I said that I was just like you. I don’t know,” She shook her head, “Maybe I was in denial, afraid to admit to myself that I’m not a good person and I’m more of a bad guy.” She chuckled, her eyes unfocused as she didn’t look at the blonde, “I remember I told you it was harder to be nice than to be cruel. I realize now that if I were naturally good, it wouldn’t be as hard. It _shouldn’t._ It should be as easy as breathing for someone who’s normal, yet it isn’t that natural for me.” She looked at Villanelle again, “For us, I guess.”

And Villanelle couldn’t help but wonder _what_ even meant, to be normal.

Did Eve want to be normal?

She silently hoped not.

It never ceased to surprise her how, despite the cruelty and mercilessness the assassin could display, her eyes would always betray her and get glassy, displaying her troubled mind. “I don’t really think we’re the same, Villanelle,” Eve continued. “I think you and I are two very different people with _a lot_ of things in common, like our very similar desires and stupid patterns of denying ourselves what we want in order to do what we think we must.”

She ignored the way her hand trembled and let out a mirthless laugh instead. “What an idiot I’ve been to believe you knew me.” She shook her head. “You don’t know me at all, Eve.” She let her head fall to a side, “Because if you did, you’d know I do what I _want.”_

“But you actually don’t,” Eve shot back. “Just like me, you don’t do what you want, Villanelle. You would have killed Niko if you had done what you wanted, but you spared him and I can only guess you did so for me.” She took a step forwards, making the assassin take one backwards, “You would have murdered Peel earlier into the shitshow if it wasn’t for how you thought you should stick to the orders you had, if only to please me.” She continued walking towards the killer. “You would have finished Raymond off for me if it wasn’t because you thought it was only right to let me taste someone else’s blood.” And she had the girl against a wall when she said, “And you would drop that gun right now, if it weren’t for the fact that you believe there’s some kind of point to make, something to pride to keep.”

“And what do _you_ want?”

She had not expected the question, if she was honest. “What I want?” She asked, seeing Villanelle nod her head.

“Think your answer but be honest. What do you want, Eve?”

Then it was Villanelle’s turn to be surprised by the other woman’s response.

“I want many things and all of them have to do with you.”

She tried to regain control of herself, of the situation. “Tell me with detail.” Villanelle murmured, emphasizing her words by pressing her gun even harder against Eve’s forehead.

Eve closed her eyes, allowing the other woman to push her backwards. “First of all, I think I want to stab you again.” She started with honesty, “For shooting me in Italy.”

Villanelle chuckled, mirth lighting up those glassy eyes. “You stabbed me _before_ I shot you. I even got a scar out of it, so I’d say we’re on the same page, now.”

“Yeah, sure, no.” Eve said, as if offended, feeling her back hit the wall yet again. “Your stunt left _two_ scars on me, not one, so you still owe me one.”

“I want to see it.”

Eve gulped. It was a very demanding tone, the one the other girl had used.

She was used to it: Villanelle was _always_ demanding, but there was something less threatening to it and more…

She considered it to be a start.

Carefully, she lifted her shirt high enough for Villanelle to catch sight of the small circle of scarred skin on the left side of her abdomen.

She ignored the way those alert eyes watched her, intently, a shuddered breath escaping the killer’s lips at the sight.

“I showed you mine, now show me yours.”

Villanelle’s eyes moved towards Eve’s, “No,” She said, getting high on the feeling, the knowledge of who that scar belonged to, who had placed it there. “I want to see the one on your back, too.” She smirked, “Turn around.” And she knew Eve was going to comply, but she was just _too_ slow, so she grabbed her by her shoulder and, growling the command, “I said, _turn around.”_ She forced her to spin and pressed her against the wall, face-first, lifting the dark haired woman’s shirt herself and letting out a small gasp at the view of her other scar, a perfect twin to the one on the front.

She stared at it, feeling herself smirk as the hand that was on Eve’s shoulder slowly slid towards the scarred skin, smiling at the way Eve shuddered as she circled it with her thumb.

Villanelle wouldn’t let Eve blame that shudder on the cold: her hands were warm enough.

_She likes it._

And it was by getting closer to the other woman that she caught the scent that Eve was showered with, that deadly smile still placed on her lips when she said, “You’re wearing the perfume I gave you.”

Eve nodded her head once. “Yes,” She confessed, “Been wearing it for some time, now.” She responded to the question she knew Villanelle would inevitably ask her.

The blonde chuckled, “Do you _really_ think that much about me—”

“Yes,” Eve cut her off and Villanelle’s smile was slowly wiped off her face when Eve added, “You’re actually the only thing I think about, nowadays.”

Villanelle stared at her for a long minute before forcing her to turn around once more. “You wanted to see mine?” She asked, before lifting her shirt with one hand , the one with the gun still aiming at Eve.

Eve couldn’t help the way her breath escaped her when she saw the pale line on Villanelle’s abdomen.

Her eyes still fixed on it, she could feel the blonde’s on her. “I want you to feel it.”

It had been an order.

Her hand still shaking, Eve slowly moved it towards Villanelle.

The blonde didn’t have that much patience though.

She grabbed Eve’s hand and pressed it against herself, her own breathing as erratic as Eve’s.

“You didn’t need to do that—”

“You were taking too long.”

“Villanelle we’re barely a feet apart—”

“And you were taking _too long.”_

Eve accepted defeat as she stared at the thin, pale line and, gently, traced it with her index finger.

She ignored the way her heart drummed against her chest.

“You did that.”

Eve nodded. “I did. You told me I couldn’t.”

“And that’s why you did it.”

Eve nodded her head. “Do you have any other scar?”

Villanelle scanned the other woman’s face as they spoke, but the usual alertness that made her eyes widen was gone, a natural laziness taking its’ place instead and making her eyes slightly droopy. “Not this visible, no.”

And Eve froze when she once again felt the end of that gun push against her head, closing her eyes.

“You said you wanted _many things.”_ Villanelle brought back their original topic in a quiet murmur, not giving Eve an inch of space as she brought herself closer. “What _else_ do you want with me, Eve?”

Despite the gun against her head, Eve’s hand still remained on the other woman’s abdomen, her fingers still tracing that scar, her eyes on it due to pure fear of looking at Villanelle’s hazel ones.

She knew the blonde was watching her.

She also knew the Russian assassin was rather _enjoying_ the contact, if the way she allowed it was any indication of it.

“I told you I had given you everything and you told me I didn’t,” Eve started, trying to reign in her own mind. “What is it that I haven’t given you?”

Villanelle frowned. “What else do you want with me, Eve?” She repeated herself, placing that gun against Eve’s pulse point, so that she could get even closer to the already trapped woman.

“I want to pay my debt, since I haven’t yet.”

Villanelle smiled at her, “Do you _really_ want to do that?”

“Yes.”

“Will you still want to, once I tell you what my price was?” And before Eve could answer, Villanelle closed her eyes and, in her mind, lowered her arms and let herself lose her own game. “ _Is._ What my price is.”

That simple fix meant an ocean of a difference.

Not that Eve knew, though.

“I will want to pay, no matter what.” Eve stated.

Villanelle was pretty much aware of the game they were playing.

Hiding it as wants and debts to be paid, they were inquiring whether the other one would cave in and surrender to their primal desires or not, finally give in and do whatever they wished, instead of simply what they thought they wished, what they thought they had to.

What was acceptable for them to do.

They were just playing to see who’d cross the line first.

Villanelle threw her bait.

“My price is  _you._ ” She said, her voice low, her hot breath washing over Eve’s face, “Not your life, your friends, your job. _You._ I needed you to get rid of all that tied you to your old life to pay me, though.”

Eve was frowning, “Why?”

“Because I doubt the _righteous_ Eve Polastri would have given me herself if she was still married, with a job that made her look at me like I’m the villain and friends that tell her I’m the bad guy.” Villanelle smirked, “Either I _killed_ the righteousness in Eve Polastri or I untied her from her old, boring life. I tried both.”

“Congratulations,” Eve started, “You succeeded at both.”

Villanelle rose her brows. “Did I?”

“Yeah, you did.” Eve said. “I have none of those things of the old Eve.”

Villanelle’s eyes lazily looked over Eve’s lips, “That’s good to know,” She said, before smirking, “You got a scar on your lip.”

“Yeah,” Eve breathed out, “You gave me that one, too.” When she saw Villanelle raise one her eyebrows in question, she added, “ _Love In An Elevator.”_

Villanelle chuckled, “You found my little surprise within my other little surprise.”

“I did,” Eve said.

The blonde couldn’t look at her in the eye anymore, her eyes focused on that small, barely there scar on her lip.

She wanted to touch it.

_No._

She wanted to lick it.

To Hell with closed doors: Eve had already unlocked it.

Maybe Villanelle _should_ listen to her and give in to what she wanted.

To open it.

“I told you my price.” Villanelle whispered, “What will you do about it?”

Eve gulped.

She wanted it just as bad, she couldn’t deny it.

She knew she didn’t have the guts, though.

So she quietly _begged_ Villanelle to take the matter into her own, very capable hands.

“Like I said, I still want to pay you. Give you what you want.”

“ _You_ are what I want.”

And the dark haired woman couldn’t really hear the gun’s faint _click_ as Villanelle engaged the safety once more, couldn’t tell she didn’t feel the gun against her neck as she threw it on the bed, landing with a quiet _thump._

All she could see, feel, hear, smell was the assassin.

She gave her one command.

“Take your pay, then.” She started, “Take me—”

And she couldn’t finish her words as Villanelle’s lips crashed against her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all dig! Not much to say save that I really ship them LMFAO.


	9. I Like You Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle and Eve both give in.

Her mind had blanked at the contact.

Truth be told, it had been blank from the moment Villanelle had touched her skin, those slender fingers circling the scars on her body.

To have her hands holding her head in place as she pressed her lips against her own was far too intoxicating for her to think, to focus, to do anything that had nothing to do with Villanelle.

There was only her.

Her hands on her face, her neck.

Her body, pressed against her own.

Her lips, her tongue, her teeth—

Eve hissed at the pain as Villanelle bit her lip, hard. “What was that for?”

“You weren’t paying attention,” Villanelle growled back. “Focus.”

Eve couldn’t move. “Okay.”

The blonde smiled at the breathless woman, all of her force gone as she relaxed her body and eased the tension between them. “I like you like that,” Villanelle commented, her tone sinfully teaseful, “So  _ obedient. _ ” She placed one of her hands on Eve’s waist, her fingers carefully moving her shirt away once more, quickly finding her skin and making her breath hitch in her throat, her other hand holding her by her neck, index and thumb pressing against the ends of her jaw, giving the Russian control of Eve’s movements.

She kept her head in place, the back of it against the wall, those dark eyes fixed on her own.

On her lips.

Villanelle smirked, biting her own lip as she did so. “What’s the matter?”

Eve closed her eyes.

She felt the hand on her throat tighten, those fingers at her jaw pressing hard.

She opened her eyes again as a gasp escaped her mouth.

Villanelle nodded her head almost imperceptibly. “That’s more like it.” She mumbled, a subtle warning not to close her eyes yet.

Painfully slowly, as if testing the waters, Villanelle leaned in.

She managed to catch Eve’s eyes slowly closing on their own accord but, this time, she followed the cue and closed her own, too.

She kissed her slowly at first, as if assessing the dark haired woman’s reaction; the halted breathing that came out as long, erratic exhales, the hands that trembled against her stomach, the fingers that seemed desperate to grab onto her as they moved around and clung to her skin.

Villanelle’s grip on her tightened as the hand by Eve’s waist pushed her harder against the wall and the one around her throat clenched harder.

The pressure made Eve whimper against her mouth.

She noted that as important information.

There was no more room for hesitation in Villanelle as she tortured the agent a little and slowly dragged her tongue over Eve’s bottom lip, making the woman let out a strangled sound. Then, she bit down on her lip, this time gentler, making a sound herself when she heard Eve moan at the sensation, so she repeated the pattern one, two, three times, her eyes opened to see Eve’s reaction, for the brunette had been watching her do whatever she pleased with her, before finally kissing her again.

She couldn’t take it anymore, then, as she gave in to her desires and hungrily kissed her harder, her tongue entering the other woman’s mouth, her hands now roaming freely, touching her neck, her shoulders, her arms, her waist.

Eve moaned loudly when Villanelle’s hands found her backside and, squeezing hard, brought her closer, The blonde’s thigh between her legs, pressing against her crotch.

But as she melted into Villanelle’s touch, the blonde suddenly pulled away completely, leaving her feeling her absence like a phantom limb.

Eve looked at Villanelle, both confusion and anger swirling in her. “What was that for?”

The blonde sat on the bed, laying back and propping herself up by her elbows, her eyes on Eve. “I already took my pay.”

Eve knew she was bullshitting her. “No, you didn’t.”

But the blonde raised a brow, “And who are you to say that?” Her head lolled to a side, a lopsided smirk on her lips, “I decide what my price is,  _ not you.”  _ That smirk grew in size as she let out a teasing  _ Awww,  _ pouting as she asked, “Is poor little Eve sad and disappointed?”

Eve wasn’t sad and disappointed.

She was  _ frustrated. _

She closed her eyes, shaking her head a bit, as if to clear it. “You can’t tell me this whole mess was just for—”

“This whole mess  _ you  _ made?” Villanelle shrugged her shoulders while watching the other woman. “No one asked you to look for me.”

Eve simply stared at her, focusing too hard on her frustrations because, if she dared focus on how what Villanelle had just said was actually  _ wrong… _

But Villanelle knew it.

The blonde  _ knew  _ the Twelve were, somehow, involved in Eve’s search.

She also knew they were just an excuse, the perfect one, for the dark haired woman to go out looking for her again.

She was just  _ choosing not  _ to address it, if only not to ruin the moment—

“And no one asked you to pull away like that,” Eve dared, deciding she wouldn’t ruin the moment, either.

Villanelle’s smile was nothing short of predatory as she sat up, placing her forearms on her thighs as she looked at her with a subtle glare and said, “I already did enough. If you want  _ more,  _ then take the lead for once and stop hiding behind other people’s decisions.”

It spurred Eve into action.

She moved towards Villanelle and kneeled on the bed, her legs to each side of Villanelle’s so that she would be straddling her and brought her hands to the collar of her shirt, grabbing it in fistfuls, bringing that mocking smile close to her before she muttered, “You’re insufferable.”

And she was kissing her hard before the assassin could say something back.

She pushed through the blonde’s lips with her tongue and couldn’t help but moan at the feeling as Villanelle obliged and let her do it, kissing her back with just as much excitement, her hands on her backside again, squeezing it and bringing Eve closer.

Eve’s hands moved towards the blonde’s hair, which was carefully kept up in a bun, and quickly released it from its’ bounds so as to run her fingers through it, earning small, pleased sounds that came from Villanelle’s throat.

But then the blonde let out a very loud, very sinful moan when Eve pulled on it, making her head follow the motion.

Eve smirked at the look on Villanelle’s face but made no comment as she leaned in to kiss her once more, the fact that Villanelle reciprocated it more feverishly being enough to make her want to catch up with her pace.

So she bit on the blonde’s bottom lip, hard.

Instead of complaining like she had done, Villanelle moaned again and caught her in another kiss, her hands now on Eve’s hair, running through it, tugging and pulling.

“God, it’s amazing,” Villanelle let out in a rushed, breathless whisper, before kissing her again, her fingers still moving around the black mass of Eve’s hair.

Eve couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips at the comment, but didn’t have much time to laugh as the blonde pulled her hair hard, making her head move back too, moving her lips away from her own and connecting them to her neck.

The kisses on the sensitive skin quickly became licks, which quickly became bites.

Eve felt as if she was losing her mind.

For the first time, in a good way.

She felt Villanelle’s tongue right underneath her jaw, pressing against her pulse point before licking it. “Excited much, Eve?” The younger woman asked her as she moved to the other side of her neck to continue her handiwork.

And even if she couldn’t see it, Villanelle knew there was a smile on Eve’s lips when she answered, “Just shut up and keep going.”

So she happily obeyed, uncaring for the fact that, maybe, in Eve’s head, of course, she wasn’t the one in control after all.

_ Maybe it’s a good thing, though. _

After all, Eve was all talk and nothing more.

She said so much about desires and giving in and she still was afraid to take the initiative.

So Villanelle, considering the Asian woman needed a little push, gave her just that.

Nevermind that she was still the one to come out on top.

She licked her way up Eve’s jawline to her ear, her hands sliding down to Eve’s back as she heard Eve mewl in approval when she took her earlobe between her teeth, licking it thoroughly, before going back to her neck again.

But it was all suddenly too gentle and she knew neither of them had been aiming for that, so as one of her hands came back to Eve’s wild mane and gripped her hair tightly, Villanelle bit down hard and turned them around, making Eve land back-first on the mattress, with her on top.

She didn’t waste time and slid her hand to Eve’s neck so as to keep her in place as she sat up and allowed her eyes to roam the older woman’s figure for a moment.

Her chest was heaving, her breathing ragged, wild and uncontrolled, not due to extenuation yet but mostly due to anticipation.

Still fully clothed, much to Villanelle’s disappointment, as she realized she had been spending her time getting the other woman all worked up instead of getting to the point.

_ But that’s the fun of it. _

She let out a breath she wasn’t entirely aware she had been holding at the sight of Eve’s parted lips, those always-dark eyes glued to her own.

Realizing she still had Eve’s legs around her, with her eyes glued to the other woman’s, Villanelle used her free hand to push one of Eve’s legs against the mattress, sliding her own over it putting all of her weight on it as she did so, her shin sliding painfully over and across Eve’s inner thigh, making the Asian woman hiss.

Changing the hand that was pressing Eve against the mattress by her neck, Villanelle repeated the same motion on the other side until she was straddling Eve.

She brought her face as close as possible to Eve’s and, curiosity getting the best of her, she watched into those eternally dark eyes as she applied pressure to the woman’s neck.

She could tell there was no fear in them.

Only  _ lust. _

She smiled, “You like it.”

Eve was staring at her, eyes wide as she nodded. “Yeah.”

Villanelle bit her lip.

Eve liked the  _ pain. _

Still pressing down on her throat, Villanelle kissed her again, licking and biting before taking her bottom lip in her mouth and sucking hard on it.

Eve was being deliciously responsive to her every action, whimpering and mewling and moaning and panting, her voice getting caught in Villanelle’s mouth as the blonde pressed her tongue against that faint scar on the other woman’s lip and felt it as she licked it.

And she could only smile when Eve froze at the sound of a faint  _ click. _

Villanelle sat up, letting Eve see where the sound came from.

A switchblade, lazily hanging from Villanelle’s fingers. “Didn’t you wonder what my  _ other  _ hand was doing, Eve?”

“It was getting a knife out of somewhere, apparently.”

Eve was  _ tense. _

Villanelle brought the blade to Eve’s neck.

The Asian woman took in a sharp breath and closed her eyes.

Villanelle did not like that.

“Look at me.”

Eve didn’t.

So Villanelle pressed the blade harder against her neck, “I said  _ look at me.” _

Eve obliged this time.

Villanelle stared into those dark eyes, searching for something and finding a different thing that, despite being predictable, still disappointed her, in a way.

She searched for approval, but only found pure, unadulterated  _ fear. _

“You think I would kill you.”

Maybe getting the knife out so early on, so soon into whatever dynamic they were exploring, had been a bad decision.

“I want you to know that I  _ will.” _

Eve didn’t know where to look, so she stared into those eyes, their pupils so wide that the color around them was practically gone.

“But you will enjoy  _ every second of it.” _

She threw the switchblade away, knowing the other woman didn’t trust her enough to enjoy that kind of playing.

Yet.

So as she leaned in to kiss Eve once more, she whispered her confession.

“I will  _ love you to death.” _

She pressed her lips against Eve’s and felt as the woman’s fear turned into relief, which turned into lust once more as she melted onto Villanelle’s touch, her hands which desperately lifted the other woman’s shirt, breaking their contact only for a second so as to get it through Eve’s head and off the way.

She stared unashamedly at Eve’s body, finding offense in the bra that still covered her chest, so Villanelle grabbed Eve by the hair and pulled her up onto a sitting position, kissing her feverishly once more as she unclasped the offending underwear and pulled it off the woman in one brutal movement.

She bit her lip when she caught the sight of Eve’s breasts, nipples hard with arousal.

“You look so good,” She let out in a harsh whisper, before pushing Eve back down against the mattress again, catching the sound that Eve let out with her mouth as she kissed her, the movement hard and fast.

She bit down on Eve’s lip when she cupped her breasts with her hands, moaning at the wild sound that came out of Eve’s throat.

And when she moved her tongue over Eve’s bottom lip, so as to soothe the pain from her biting, Villanelle realized a metallic taste invaded her mouth.

She opened her eyes and pulled away enough to see Eve’s mouth.

There was blood on it.

Villanelle stared into Eve’s eyes for a second, somewhat uncertain of it all, all of a sudden.

She had never allowed herself to cross that line before, with anyone else.

Not even Anna.

Not even Nadia.

They weren’t into the kind of brutality that she liked and the bedroom was one place where she could understand and even  _ respect  _ boundaries.

But she had never gone as far as this,  _ really  _ giving in to her desires.

She wondered if she had made a mistake, if it would push Eve away.

She played it cool, though, as she lolled her head to a side and raised a brow, licking her lips from any remnants of Eve’s blood. “Too rough?” She questioned in a teasing tone.

She swallowed her own saliva when she realized Eve’s dark eyes were hot on her, the Asian woman’s tongue darting out to lick her wound.

And Eve made Villanelle choke on her own words when she said in a surprisingly authoritative tone,

“Who told you you could stop?”

The sound that escaped Villanelle’s mouth at that was shameful, but the blonde didn’t care as she moved towards Eve’s lips again, biting  _ hard  _ and kissing and sucking and licking the coppery liquid, her hands moving against the woman’s breasts.

She had never allowed herself to be entirely  _ her,  _ before.

_ Maybe that’s why it never worked. _

_ Why it would never work. _

Never, unless it was with Eve.

So she kissed her, moaning against the other woman’s mouth while her thumbs flicked Eve’s nipples, pressing on them before circling them, flicking them before pressing on them.

She started working her way downwards then, biting Eve’s skin as she got lower on her body, her nibbling and licking and sucking being rough enough to be rather painful.

Not enough to be more painful than sensual, at least for Eve, though.

The pain kept her adrenaline wildly high, her senses feeling enhanced at the feeling of Villanelle’s sharp teeth against her skin, the pang of pain always quickly followed by the soothing feeling of her tongue being pressed against those places where she knew she’d find brutal bruises later on.

She couldn’t even  _ try  _ to keep the loud moan in as Villanelle’s mouth finally landed on her nipple.

Her hands quickly moved towards the blonde’s hair, gripping it tight and keeping her in place as Villanelle licked her nipple, before taking it between her teeth and sucking on it, her hand mimicking her motions on the other one.

She didn’t bother to keep her own arousal at bay, freely moaning and grunting at the feeling of Eve’s body, the sweat that already covered her skin, the blood that still painted her lips red, the sinful singing and the strong gripping.

The scar on her lip. The twin ones on her abdomen and back.

The knowledge that it was all  _ her  _ doing.

_ Mine. _

And she wanted to make sure Eve knew who she belonged to.

Villanelle’s head moved from one nipple to the other, the assassin’s switching hands, her free one moving to the wet nipple so as to keep it entertained while she used her mouth on the other.

Eve didn’t seem to mind the quick switch.

Villanelle started to think she could get off by just hearing Eve moan.

She wanted to test it out.

Her mouth moving lower, both of her hands now on Eve’s nipples, she continued kissing, biting, licking, sucking skin.

She reached the waistband of Eve’s jeans in no time.

She looked up at Eve as she quickly sat up on the bed, her legs to each side of Eve’s hips, but she did not look for any kind of permission on the older woman.

She just wanted to see Eve’s reaction as she quickly unbuttoned her jeans.

She heard Eve’s boots hit the floor, the former agent never breaking eye contact with her.

It pleased Villanelle way more than she had expected.

She jumped out of the bed and, slyly hooking her fingers on Eve’s underwear underneath her jeans, she yanked it all off Eve, smirking at the woman as she heard her gasp.

She bit her lip at the sight, that devious smile still in place.

Taking into account that she was already  _ off  _ the bed, she considered that kneeling in front of Eve instead of climbing right back up would be a better alternative.

That, and she desperately wanted to feel her wetness against her mouth.

_ Win win situation. _

So Villanelle pretty much threw herself to the ground, on her knees, grabbing Eve’s calves and bringing her closer to the edge as she pulled from them.

Eve sat up immediately as Villanelle’s head ended up between her thighs, all due to the younger woman’s own doing.

She watched as Villanelle, staring right back at her, placed her thighs on her shoulders and, opening her mouth, she leaned in and—

“Oh,  _ God,”  _ Eve couldn’t help herself as she gripped blonde strands of hair like they were her lifeline as Villanelle pressed her tongue flat against her clit, the heat and tension that had been building up making the simple contact so far more intoxicating.

Villanelle felt the same way, only due to a different thing.

She moved lower and licked her way from Eve’s entrance to her clit, taking all of her wetness on her tongue, her hands moving on their own accord to Eve’s backside and her fingers digging into her rear, as if trying to bring her impossibly closer.

Testing the Asian woman’s arousal, Villanelle moaned against Eve’s skin, enjoying the sinful sounds coming out of Eve’s throat as she fell back onto the mattress, her hands never leaving the blonde’s hair.

She lost her wits when she heard Eve moan out a clear  _ Villanelle. _

She licked her once before pulling away enough to order, “Say it again.”

Eve would obey her every command. “ _ Villanelle,” _

She pressed her tongue harder against her clit, “Again.”

Eve obliged, “ _ Villanelle.” _

It drove her insane, “Keep going.”

And Eve would always obey.

Villanelle licked off all of Eve’s constantly growing wetness before circling her clit with the tip of her tongue, her eyes closed due to the pleasure of hearing Eve scream her name, the rough pull from her hair almost in sync, the pain being tortuously enjoyable.

She was driving Eve insane.

_ Her.  _ Her hands, her mouth, her teeth, her tongue. By  _ her  _ and  _ her alone. _

Nothing could beat that feeling.

So Villanelle kept going, picking up her pace and going even faster, moaning as loud as Eve whenever she heard the constant chanting of her name like a deadly mantra, those hands grasping as desperately as her own, Eve raking her nails all over her scalp, wishing she’d be closer even if she couldn’t, arching her back, sweat coating her skin—

She cried out when she felt Villanelle wrap her lips around it, sucking on it hard.

“ _ Yes,”  _ Eve had moaned out in response to a question she hadn’t been asked, “ _ Yes, Villanelle.” _

And she kept repeating it, kept telling her to go on, to keep doing that, to keep sucking on it that hard, to keep groping her and digging her fingers in her flesh and to keep bruising her skin and marking it and—

Her breath got caught in her throat as Villanelle shifted, replacing her bottom lip with her tongue, still sucking as hard but now licking it up too, hitting a spot Eve doubted she had played with before.

She didn’t last long after that, crying out Villanelle’s name as she clamped her legs down on the assassin’s back, bringing her close, keeping her in place as she came, her muscles spasming with the feeling, her head feeling lighter as her orgasm passed.

Breathing heavily, she flinched as she felt Villanelle’s tongue on her one more time, licking her up and taking the arousal off her.

Once she was done with her, Villanelle got on the bed, on top of Eve once more, grabbing her by her hair and bringing her up into a sitting position, kissing her hard on the mouth, letting Eve taste herself on her tongue.

The older woman’s hands moved to Villanelle’s back, her hands fumbling with the hem of her shirt, failing to take her clothes off.

Villanelle laughed at Eve’s eagerness and grabbed her hands, placing them to each side of her and, with hers still on top, helped the woman get rid of her clothes.

She didn’t give Eve time to think as he quickly unclasped her bra, throwing it to a side, before grabbing Eve’s hands and placing them on her breasts, sighing at the contact while Eve flinched at the unexpected action.

Villanelle’s hands kept Eve’s in place as her hips started moving, the girl slowly grinding on the woman underneath her.

The image of Villanelle, hips rocking to a mute rhythm, lips parted and hands on her breasts was enough to make Eve come back to reality.

Rather unsure of her actions but following instinct and personal taste, she pushed one of Villanelle’s hands away, making the girl watch her, not breaking eye contact as she brought her mouth to her nipple and—

“ _ Yes,”  _ Villanelle encouraged as she felt Eve’s tongue circle her nipple, before her lips surrounded it and she started sucking, _ “Yes.” _

Eve continued licking and sucking, repeating the pattern for a bit before she pushed Villanelle’s other hand away, her mouth quickly changing from one breast to the other and repeating the previous actions, her hand coming up to play with the nipple she had just abandoned.

She closed her eyes at the feeling of Villanelle’s hands on her hair, fingers tangling themselves on dark strands, the assassin’s hands surprisingly gentle as she did not pull harshly, but rather weakly tug on it, quiet commands for Eve to go on.

She could get used to Villanelle’s fingers on her hair.

Her free hand quickly found the waistband to Villanelle’s pants and, as an order, Eve tugged on it.

Villanelle chuckled when she felt it, “Okay,” She mumbled breathily, before getting off the bed, on her feet and undoing the button.

Eve quickly moved to the edge of the bed and placed her hands on Villanelle’s hips, not missing those hazel eyes as she lowered her pants, her shoes already out of the picture at some point in time Eve wasn’t aware of.

She used Villanelle’s same trick on her and brought her underwear down in the same motion but, instead of being rather surprised by it, Villanelle quickly kicked it all off her legs, before pushing Eve back against the bed, straddling her again.

Eve immediately brought her mouth back to her nipple, blowing air on the one that was still wet, making Villanelle flinch before taking it in her mouth again.

She took advantage of the small distraction and rolled them over, forcing Villanelle’s back to land against the mattress as she placed herself on top, one of her legs between Villanelle’s.

She brought her lips to Villanelle’s and kissed the blonde and then, as her hand reached lower, she bit her bottom lip roughly, hearing Villanelle moan as her fingers moved over her clit.

Eve stared into Villanelle’s hooded eyes as she moved her fingers up and down her slit, before pressing against her clit and rubbing a few, lazy circles on it.

Villanelle couldn’t help the way she moaned out  _ Eve  _ when the former agent licked her neck and bit down on it, two fingers entering her at that moment.

Eve kept kissing Villanelle’s neck as her fingers built up a pace, the girl underneath her moaning and squirming but always keeping her legs open, on of her hands on Eve’s hair.

The dark haired woman chuckled when she realized Villanelle’s on her wrist, as if encouraging her to go faster and harder, occasionally leaving her alone to rub her clit a bit, then coming back to her wrist.

So Eve obliged and, using her thigh to push her hand even harder, she picked up the pace, pushing herself inside Villanelle hard and fast.

“ _ Eve,”  _ Villanelle moaned out, both of her hands desperately trying to get a grip on the other woman’s hair, neck, shoulders, as Eve kept pushing hard against her, her thigh helping her on each thrust, the whole bed moving as she did so.

She could feel Villanelle getting closer, the assassin only being able to say her name.

Eve pressed her tongue against her pulse point, licking the sweat off of it while Villanelle moaned, thrusting her fingers in and out, sucking on her skin, her body pressed against the blonde’s.

Feeling Villanelle close, she curled her fingers—

“ _ Eve,”  _ Villanelle’s moan was louder and rougher, not a praise but a command.

So Eve obliged and kept curling her fingers as she entered her, being going as fast and hard as she could, getting messier and rougher and—

Villanelle cried out in ecstasy as she closed her legs and kept Eve’s hand in place while she rode out her orgasm, Eve still curling her fingers inside of her.

Eve stopped moving as the girl’s spasms slowed down, her breathing still ragged but her body calmer.

When Villanelle relaxed her legs, Eve pulled out abruptly, making Villanelle glare at her as she flinched, the scowl quickly erased from her face as Eve pushed those two fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean.

Villanelle grabbed her by the neck and kissed her hard, eager to taste herself on Eve’s mouth.

She could get used to it.

She let her head hit the bed underneath her, eyes closing as she heard Eve chuckle, “I’m going to take that as a  _ good job.” _

Villanelle laughed at that, “You mean to tell me you’ve never fucked a girl before, Eve?” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I must admit that’s disappointing, but don’t worry!” She opened her eyes to look at Eve’s expression of confusion. “You’ll get better with practice.”

Eve pushed her head back down, “Oh, fuck off!” She hovered over Villanelle’s face, “You loved it.”

Villanelle smiled, “Maybe.” And as Eve smiled back and was about to retort, a yawn escaped her mouth, so Villanelle quickly moved the covers away and got inside the bed, motioning for Eve to do the same, “Come on.”

Eve shook her head, “What are you doing?”

“I’m resting.”

Eve wasn’t sure of what to say, “We don’t have time to—”

“We  _ do,”  _ Villanelle said, wide eyes quietly commanding Eve to quiet down. “Right now, we rest. We deal with whatever it is later.”

And Eve would have complained, but she yawned again and she was  _ really  _ tired.

So she obliged, getting under the blanket, too.

Villanelle laid down and patted her chest. “Here.”

Eve tried not to laugh and obliged.

Her laughter died out when she realized she was actually comfortable laying on the assassin, her hands lazily draped over her.

And she thought she should say something, she should talk to Villanelle about what they had just done, but it wasn’t too long before the blonde’s fingers started to move against her scalp, scratching gently enough that she forgot what she was about to say, anyway.

And it wasn’t too long after than before they both fell asleep.

_ We deal with real life later. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm in Finals hell, I hope you all enjoy this lil thing I had to rush out before I started studying for tomorrow's (oops!) exam LMFAO.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm Mili, aka Mililap on tumblr (mililap.tumblr.com) and pretty much EVERYWHERE lmfao. I finished watching killing eve and uuuh... can the world give them a break so they can, you know, fuck? No? Okay, I will give them the break they deserve.
> 
> (after slowburning it because the show does it already so why not?)
> 
> Hope you dig this little introduction to what they will be in this fic I have definitely not planned at all because I'm impulsive as Hell and needed to write at least this beginning and, why not, leave your thoughts below!
> 
> Much love.


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